


Parallel Motion (Or: Fate, Crunchy Cheetos, and a Bunch of Other Things Chris Pine Didn't Believe In)

by thalialunacy



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Alpha Males, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Big Bang Challenge, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Mythical Beings & Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-21
Updated: 2011-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:33:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalialunacy/pseuds/thalialunacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world with a happily secret, slightly oversexed, Hollywood-centered underbelly of werewolves, Chris Pine is a reluctant hipster alpha just trying to make a name for himself and still maintain the freedom to flip off the paps and wear however many white t-shirts he wants. He has no interest in being weighed down by centuries of tradition and the responsibilities of his station; he just wants to get laid.</p><p>Then he meets Karl Urban, and finds out all the lore he never believed is actually true--there is such a thing as a perfect mate. The only hitch? This one's married. Oh, and human.</p><div class="center">
<br/><a href="http://pics.livejournal.com/thalialunacy/pic/004hbcq9">
<br/><img/></a>
<br/></div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : Werewolves! Knotting! Mpreg! Mangst! Copious amounts of swearing, including the (other) f-word. Reference to off-screen suicide of a minor character. I played with the trope, and the timeline. But, my dear friends, if you have any interest at all, or any faith in me, I suggest you take my hand and jump in. The water is surprisingly nice, and the boys are very pretty. XB  
>  **Disclaimer** : I do not know these people, and do not claim to. Obviously fictional content is 100% fictional, and I mean no disrespect. Please, please don’t sue me. And hey, don’t be hatin, we just like the fuckin.

This is a story about werewolves. It's a story about Hollywood, and homophobia, and hangovers, and poetry, and fuzzy hair and big heads, and a whole lot of shitty communication.

But, overall, it's a story about love.

Love.

And Jolly Ranchers.

\---

This is how Chris Pine learned about werewolves:

He came home from kindergarten and asked.

He asked: "Why does Allison Comstock smell like rain?"

His mom looked like she'd been struck by lightning. But she recovered quickly, sitting him down-- in a chair, not the couch; he's her son, not her client; there are rules about this sort of thing-- and asked him three simple questions.

"By 'rain', do you mean grass right after a storm? Or the freeway when it starts to sprinkle?"

Chris shook his head. "No, rain. Rainbows and clouds and…" He struggled for the words, his young brain just starting the fight for eloquence it would continue till his dying day. "New stuff."

"Does anyone else smell like this?"

"No," he said matter-of-factly, "that'd be weird. But Allison's just… Allison."

"Alright." His mother breathed in tightly. Then she asked the most important question. "Is Allison a girl?"

Chris looked up at her, surprised. "No."

His mother pursed her lips. Then she raised her head, and called for his father.

\---

This is how Zachary Quinto learned about werewolves:

Chris Pine saved his sweet ass from a pack of them on his first night out in LA.

Zach and Chris didn't meet at a party, see. Or at the gym. Or any other story they can't keep straight, pun intended. They met at a stupidly posh club, in an exceedingly misnamed 'bathroom', where Zach was being backed into a wall by a bunch of really sleek twink betas. (Looks can deceive, as they say.)

Chris had known from miles away that there was trouble, but he hadn't expected it to go down the way it did. He'd expected a fight, a scuffle, some bruises on his never-going-to-be-famous-so-give-the-fuck-up face.

But five minutes later, all he'd done was walk in the room. The betas had breathed in once, stared at him hard, then turned tail and stalked out, leaving a trail of glitter.

One of them had even muttered, "Fucking alphas," over his shoulder.

Shows what turning 25 will get you.

\---

And this is how Karl Urban learns about werewolves:

He gets knocked up by Chris Pine.

\---

But wait, that's not quite right.

And you probably want to hear the in between, right?

Let's go back.


	2. Part One

"They're only wolves sometimes," he explained to his sister, who clutched her pillow and stared at him. His parents had thought it'd be a good idea for him to explain it to her. Seriously, therapist parents. What you gonna do.

"We," he amended quietly, looking down. "I guess we're only wolves sometimes."

"But you don't know?"

He shrugged. "They say it won't happen till I'm older."

Katie's nose wrinkled. It'd stay that way for the next eight years. "Ew."

"It's okay," Chris said with a smile. He thunked his hands on his hips. "I'm never gonna grow up." Then he took off out of the room, arms outstretched, yelling, "I'M PETER PAAAAAAAAN!!"

Unfortunately, as much as Los Angeles feels like Neverland (Michael Jackson joke notwithstanding), even blessed, loved, and protected southern California boys grow up.

\---

It took less than a minute for Noah to defer to Chris after Chris drove Zach's shaky ass home. It took a little over three hours for Zach to sober up enough for Chris to explain anything to him. It took five tries with the explaining before Zach finally snapped and told Chris to get the fuck out of his house and go back to Venice with the rest of the crazies.

It only took four seconds after that for Chris to shift into wolf form on Zach's kitchen floor.

He'd moved off the rug first, though. His mom raised him right, after all.

\---

"Christopher Whitelaw _Pine_!"

A small yip came from behind the door.

"You shift back this instant, young man."

The yip became a whine.

"Oh, no. Don't try that puppy act with me, darling. You're going to shift back, and you're going to come clean up the carpet. I don't care that it's full moon. You are old enough to deal with it." There was a pause, and the last thump of a tail on the floor. "And old enough to clean up your own damn messes."

There was an audible whump of a canine flopping down onto the rug. It sounded much like a fifteen year old boy throwing himself onto his bed in a fit of pique.

Fucking _mothers_.

\---

Zach stared at him for a really long time. Watched as him and Noah sniffed around each other, then as Noah went down onto his front legs and yipped playfully. They tussled for a while, bumping into cupboards before ending up at Zach's feet in a heap.

Chris shifted back, and sat cross-legged on the floor, petting Noah while they both panted slightly, looking up at Zach.

Finally, _finally_ , Zach just shrugged, a tiny smile on his face. "Well, I'm gay. And I swear to God Noah purrs when you pet him right. So. Welcome to the Island of Misfit Toys."

\---

He didn't bring it up for a long time after that. Following suit, Chris never asked about being closeted. They talked about everything else, though. And months turned into a year, and haphazard acquaintances turned into best friends, before it got brought up again.

Chris should've known when Zach bought beer. Like, real beer. Stout. Shit that usually made Zach shudder. Zach bought it and plonked Chris down on the couch, leaving only to return from the kitchen with a bottle of whiskey.

"Oh, shit," Chris said.

"Yeah." Zach opened the whiskey and took a slug. The resultant shiver wracked him as he passed the bottle to Chris. "It was a shitty day, and this is a shitty town, and I want to know about werewolves. So drink up."

And Chris couldn’t say no, really. Zach hadn’t told anyone yet, and Chris had an inkling that his shitty day had involved a certain director who liked to reel you in then poke at all your tender spots.

So he took a drag of whiskey, and started talking.

\---

First off, it's not the movies. (The fact that most weres are involved in movie making is just part of the hilariousness that is life.) There's no ritualistic ripping out of hearts (unless you mean metaphorically, but that's world-wide and across species, isn't it?), there's no fight between vampires and werewolves (vampires only exist in cold ancient places, and weres prefer to live in the sunlight and the heat). There's not even a full-moon time limitation. The moon pulls at weres just like it pulls at everyone else; weres just know it, whereas others stumble around wondering why they're having a bad week.

Second off, there's no turning. There's no conquer and mark and make someone a were. That's just uncouth, for one, and for two, against nature.

Because, third off, it _is_ nature. Lady Gaga got one thing right: Some people are just born this way. The genetics of it are relatively parallel to albinism, only not studied in science classes around the world, because, well… awkward.

\---

"You remember how middle school fucking sucked?" he said to Zach as he settled into the couch.

Zach shuddered. "I try not to, thanks."

"Right. Middle school sucks for everybody. The girls have tits and the boys are two feet tall yet their voices are cracking and their pits are smelling and school suddenly involves homework and boners simultaneously."

"Not so much with the tits."

"Right, that's what I'm saying. You had middle school times the power of gay. I had middle school times the power of alpha."

"Explain that part again."

"It's not rocket science, Quinto."

"No, because rocket science is logical. No grey areas."

"Isn't there chaos theory, though? Or are those totally not related?"

"You're so just a pretty face."

"Shut up."

"You can't make me, I'm not one of your people."

"True." Chris shrugged. "Plus, I'm lazy."

They let the blatant lie pass.

"So explain that part again."

And Chris did.

\---

So fourth off, and most importantly: It's not as easy as categories A, B, and C. Alphas are not always great leaders, or even great people; they're not all just out to conquer and breed. And betas aren't always jealous or petty or stuck with their lot in life as a sort of supernatural middle child. And omegas aren't always interested in having kids, or domesticity, or being conquered.

There are grey areas.

\---

The one area that's not grey, however, is the actual wolf part. Yes, it happens. No, they don’t have to take off their clothes or deal with ripping through them -- they’re supernatural creatures, and this is not a romance novel. Yes, around the full moon, and no, not by choice -- but both of those only apply when they're young.

And yes, it's fucking painful as hell.

This is why there's that No Turning thing. Chris knew eight years before it happened that it was _going_ to happen, and that it was going to _suck_ , and still, his first change had left him in bed for a week, crying on his mom's shoulder and begging for her to fix it. Make it better. End it. Whatever it took.

She just stroked his hair and told him it'd get easier. He was old enough to doubt her, but young enough to let her comfort him anyway.

\---

"Does it still suck that much?"

Chris shrugged, but he wasn't lying when he said, "Not quite that much. You get older, hormones change, you know what you're getting into. So at least it seems to not suck as much."

Zach nodded. "Hormones change? I mean, besides the obvious."

"Yeah, actually…" Chris fidgeted a little. "The statuses take a while to sort themselves out. Alpha the longest. My parents, of course, were all 'You're destined, son,' but I dunno, I've never really been all that… divide-and-conquer-y. I mean, I fuck women hard and I've gotten in fights, but not like…" He waved his hands around. "I hate words sometimes."

"You love them. They're just fickle."

"True that."

"So, the fucking women, I get, and the fights, all right, but then--" Zach gestured vaguely to himself.

"What happened with you? Yeah. I…" Chris licked his lips. "Talk about hormones. I’d just had my 25th birthday. The week before, I'd had to smack around another alpha who was being a douche -- seriously, _douche_ ; what is it with men and sisters? -- so I was ready to fight. It's not my biggest pleasure in life, or anything, but shit, weres are fucking great at getting in trouble. And they'll fight me, they will. So I was just as surprised as you by their response."

Zach raises an eyebrow at him.

"Okay, possibly less surprised."

But only a little.

\---

Because it's not something he could've prepared for, see. Yes, yes, his parents taught him rules and showed him videos and bought him books. But.

It's like… it's like how he still feels like the biggest tool when he's in front of the camera, how he's sure he looks like a big-headed imbecile with skinny legs and dark circles under his eyes, and yet when people see him act, they applaud at the end.

Being deferred to by betas and omegas is kind of like that.

Times a thousand.

\---

"It wasn't always like that, obviously. Shit, when I was a kid, I got the snot beat out of me just like everybody else. It's kind of like…" He chewed on a thumbnail. "I knew this guy once who was 6'7", right, and he was the most docile guy I've ever met. He knew that people were scared of him just by being in the same room, so he tried to counteract it in any way possible, with posture and mannerisms and tones of voice." He smirked. "He was Mr. Sensitive Ponytail Man."

Zach rolled his eyes. "I don't see the parallel."

"Oh. Um. My parents? Told me from an early age I'd be great, be an alpha, be a leader, be a role model, be a taskmaster, blah blah blah. Which scared the shit out of me, to be honest. I mean, what eight year old wants to hear that? I just wanted to run around and chase girls, read my books. So I guess I let the other kids whale on me. Both the normals and the weres."

"So what happened?"

Chris shrugged. "Life."

\---

"Joey Lucas." A kid in the front row stood as the teacher called out his name. "Chris Pine." Chris groaned inwardly, then stood as well. "You get Mary Queen of Scots," the teacher finished, then moved on to the next pairing.

Joey sneered at Chris. Chris tried not to clench his fists. Joey smelled like…like damp soil, bitter and roiled. He was a were, alright, but he was a _bitch_.

That's what Chris had always thought, anyways, as he watched Joey mow through kids like the bully in some Sweet Valley High novel. (Hey, Chris had a sister. And it paid to know these things.) But officially all minors were classified as betas until further notice.

Further notice, in this case, happened to be later that day, when they were supposed to meet up to start work on their project.

Chris could sense it before he got there, smelled the fear and anger. Heard the word ‘faggot’ get hurled through the air.

Which pissed Chris off on principle more than anything. Didn't Joey know _anything_? Didn't he have _any_ kind of respect for his _millennia old_ heritage?

Clearly not, Chris thought as he rounded the corner. He was so angry he could taste it, all the bullshit of being a teenager and being a were and being a shrink's kid, for God's sake. His brain felt like it was overheating, and he could hear his heart. Hear Joey's heart. Hear the poor freshman's heart beating like a jackrabbit as his world narrowed down to not one, but two motherfucking _werewolves_.

Not that he knew it. But that's beside the point. Base instincts are base instincts, and when that kid saw Chris, his eyes went from frightened to downright petrified.

But the thing is, so did Joey's.

\---

"So the same thing that happened with me."

Chris shook his head. "No. I beat the shit out of Joey."

"I don't understand."

Chris rubbed at the mouth of his beer bottle. "He, uh…" He licked at the side of his upper lip. "He wanted me to. Not, like, in a sexual way. In a retribution way. He fucking showed his belly." Chris managed not to shudder. It was still a creepy fucking memory.

Zach stared at him. His head tilted, until he resembled Noah so much that Chris almost laughed. “You know, showed his belly? Surrendered? Showed himself to be an omega in the extreme?”

"Fascinating," Zach finally said, Spock-like, if Spock had a sassy pseudo-lisp. "But not an answer."

Chris harrumphed, tucking his chin into his chest and sucking on his beer noisily.

Zach poked him. "Twenty-five. Tell me about turning twenty-five."

Chris threw his head back so hard it made a smushy thunk against the couch. "Fine, fucktard. There used to be this ritual, see, hundreds of hundreds of years ago. So long ago that we don't really know when it was, just that it was done in a guy's mid-20s, as a sort of coming-of-age-slash-midlife-crisis sort of thing. My parents always told me it was pure ritual, based on nothing scientific, even though the documentation on it says it’s done because of great changes in the alpha’s hormones and status." He snorted. "My parents are not normally wrong, but about that, they were."

"Okay. I get that, science became ritual became science, but-- Midlife crisis? Does that mean you're not immortal?"

Chris full-on laughed at that. "God, no. We'd've overrun the world by now, if we were, given how much we like to fuck. Jesus. No. And no decapitation is necessary to end us, either, before you ask. Although it is a little tougher than on your lousy species." He grinned. "No offense intended."

"None taken; I'm pansy and proud."

Their beer bottles made a satisfying clinking sound.

\---

"My cast itches."

"You have popsicle sticks."

"And?"

"You should use them."

"Sure, I could build a bridge."

"Chris."

Chris threw his pencil down onto the table. "I just don't see why I have to wear it."

His mom pushed it back from where it had rolled into her work space. "Yes, you do."

He stubbornly pushed it back. "I'm healed."

She sighed and rolled it under her fingers. "We're not having this conversation again."

"Only half the class saw me break it, anyways."

"You know what it's called when you do the same action repeatedly and expect different results."

"Mom."

Gwynne finally looked up at the pained tone in his voice. Her jaw tightened and her gaze softened at the look on his face. "I know, hon."

"I hate hiding."

"I know."

"I mean, I’m registered. I don't see what the big deal is."

She got up and sat down next to him. "Chris. It might not be a big deal to you, but it's a big deal to everyone else. Especially with you being…"

Chris groaned. "Mom, please don't start that again."

She put up her hands. "Alright, alright. But you see my point. We just want you to have a good life, that's all." She looked at him, at this nearly-grown son of hers. "You know if you want to go public, we'll support you."

Chris looked up at her, surprised. "You will?"

She smiled and cupped his cheek. "Of course we will. We're your parents, not the Gestapo." She sat back. "Oh, that was tasteless. But you know what I mean."

Chris couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, I know." He chewed on a pinky fingernail, staring at his cast as if it held all the answers. Finally, he shrugged. "Maybe tomorrow."

\---

"The first person I knew that died was a were," Chris explained, contemplating the label on his beer bottle. Contemplating getting up to get another one. "And a young one, too. Some dumb kid who got himself--" _Knocked up_ , he almost said, but he stopped himself just in time. "--in a shitload of trouble, and threw himself in front of a train."

Zach grimaced. "Yuck."

"No doubt. He was on life support for a while, but they let him go." Chris stood up, decided, and walked towards the kitchen. "So no, not immortal. Not even close."

He fell silent after that. It felt appropriate. Then over the snick of the fridge door shutting, he heard Zach say, "I am not the only pansy here."

Chris came back in the room, bottle in each hand, a perplexed look on his face. "What?"

"You're still not getting to the important part." Zach smirked. "The boys fucking boys part."

"Priorities." He settled back down onto the couch.

"I have them, and they're very clear. I mean, are all werewolves male?"

"Yes. Well. Mostly. Yes." Zach eyed him. "Grey areas, but penises are usually involved, yes."

“Do you... ever fuck in animal form?”

Chris looks at him. “Why the hell would we? Wolves fuck for babies, not for fun. And it’s not fun at _all_ for the catcher, if you get what I mean.”

“Ah. That makes sense. Now, if you were were _dolphins_ \--”

Chris laughs. “Hell yes. I’d be all over that.”

Zach is still pondering. "So… are vampires all female?"

Chris looked at him, impressed. "Yes. Well, again--"

"Mostly?"

"Mostly. Their--" He makes a rude hand gesture. "--impregnating, or whatever, is done with the mouth and it's all very--"

"Hot?"

"Hot? That's like, four tits!"

"Hey, I'm gay, not dead."

Chris laughed with all his teeth. "Alright, alright. Actually, it's cold. Very, very cold."

"Huh." Zach seemed lost in this concept for a moment. He almost missed it when Chris finally brought the subject back around.

"I've never done it," Chris admitted.

"Well, yeah, you just said they were all--" Zach stopped. "Oh."

"Yeah."

Zach stared at him. "Never?"

"Nope."

"Isn't that… against your nature?"

Chris shrugged. "Grey area, my friend. Grey area."

"Mmhmm. And is this grey area perhaps a little shadowed by the darkness of homophobia?"

Chris snorted. "Oh God, you're so not allowed to attempt metaphors this intoxicated."

"My question remains, Princess."

"Princess Alpha. I'm sensing something not right about that phrase."

"Christopher."

"Alright, fuck off. Yes, I don't delve into the man-love because I don't want to deal with the fall-out." He had yet to mention the whole pregnancy aspect. He planned on telling Zach about that never, and it was a rare enough phenomenon that he figured he’d be able to get away with it. "I do truly like tits--enough to be suspicious of anybody who doesn't, because, really, all comfort in life comes from tits, and--"

" _Christopher_."

"Zachary," Chris shoots back. Then he huffs in acquiescence. "I've never met anybody worth the risk, okay? And at this age, with my status, it’s about as likely as... I dunno, as my eyes turning brown."

Zach studied him, then gave up and took another drink. "Okay."

\---

Turns out, Chris should never, ever have spoken those words. Because a year later, they started work on _Star Trek_.


	3. Part Two

Nobody'd smelled like rain to Chris in a long time.

Which was as it should be, really; grown-up smells and wants are a lot different than kindergarten smells and wants, right?

Right.

Except.

Except maybe they shouldn't be, Chris thought as he played with his nephew. As he watched the unabashed emotions play across the kid's face, unhampered by protocol and second-guessing and intellect and philosophy. Just-- earth, rain, sky, fire --

Life. Joy.

 _Life_.

\---

He thought he was prepared. He'd heard of Karl Urban, for one, and for two, Chris Pine is not just a pretty face. He's a pretty face that prepares the shit out of his roles. The fact that he was the last one officially cast, yes, made it easy this time, but the fact that this was a role he wasn't even sure he _wanted_ made it that much harder.

And the first read-through was like a fucking nerd convention. Chris knew his share of nerds, through high school and college and--hello--theater, but he was not prepared for the sheer amount of geeking out that the writers, director, producers, and Simon motherfucking Pegg were doing while they sat around the table waiting for everyone to show up.

Finally, just as the conversation turned into a heated discussion about whether any merit at all could be found in the _Star Wars_ prequels, the last two stragglers could be heard out in the hall.

Chris heard Zach's voice first. He couldn't make out the words, but he could suddenly make out a very distinct smell. One that didn't belong to Zach, for sure. Zach's scent at this point was so familiar to Chris, he could barely make it out anymore. (Olfactory fatigue: not just for humans anymore.) It was more like… Chris tilted his head, trying to place it, as it got stronger and the voices got louder.

But it wasn't until the door actually opened and Karl Urban walked in, all teeth and laughter and tangy vowels, that it hit Chris like a shit-ton of bricks.

Sun.

Karl smelled like sun.

Full on, in the face, sunburned-in-twenty-minutes sun. Sun and cleansing and moth to a flame and Chris, like a weak wee plant, turned towards it. He fucking _leaned_ towards it as he watched Karl and Zach slide into chairs and the conversation.

Well, Karl slid into the conversation, like the nerd Chris didn't yet know he was, while Zach slid right into Chris's personal bubble, like he tended to do.

"What _is_ that look on your face?" he asked Chris quietly, clearly perplexed. "You okay?"

Chris shook his head once, sharply, his eyes never leaving Karl.

Zach followed his line of sight. "Oh," he managed, just as Karl finally swung his gaze to meet Chris's.

Chris felt it like a punch in the gut.

 _New stuff._

"And you must be the Jim to my Bones," Karl said with a smile, standing and leaning over the table to offer a hand for Chris to shake.

As they made initial contact, Chris, for the first time in his life, got it.

Fucking- _A_ , did he get it. His hand warmed instantly where Karl's fingers wrapped around it, the grip firm but not overly so. His gut churned like it did right before stepping onstage opening night. His nerves were all sparking with energy, like a kid on motherfucking Christmas morning. His chest felt like someone had opened a 2-liter of extremely fizzy soda straight up inside it.

And his cock…

Well, he had to sit down a little abruptly, let's put it that way.

His mind fucking _reeled_.

Everything else about being a were, the changing and the smelling and the deference, had always felt distant, hidden, a part of him but apart from him.

But this.

He wanted this. His wanted this instinctively, viscerally, emotionally, philosophically-- He wanted to wrap himself around Karl and never let go; he wanted to mark him, to claim him, to keep him next to him, under him, nowhere more than ten feet from him forfucking _ever_ , to shout it from the rooftops, to fill him up with babies and buy a big house where they could raise them in peace, with a pool and a jungle gym and perhaps a zip line and a petting zoo...

It scared the shit out of him, but it was true all the same. He had been blindsided by a force of nature older than time... which happened to take the shape of a dimpled, geeky, aw-shucks Kiwi, but still.

He was done for.

 _Finally._

The rest of the reading was like throwing cooked noodles at a wall. At some point, Chris read his lines. Laughed when appropriate. Took notes that later would make sense to him, sure, but at this point just felt like scratches on the table. Thought about Kirk in terms like ‘stalwart’ and ‘marshmallows’ and a few other things that made zero sense.

When J.J. called a wrap for the day, Chris felt like oozing out of the door, but then Karl spoke up and his senses zeroed in, snapping back into place with relief. “Hey, I heard they’ve started the bridge set; any chance we could have a look?”

He was including Chris in this ‘we,’ apparently, if his expectant expression and hopeful gesture were any indication. Chris looked from J.J. to Zach but ended up of course at Karl, of course smiling and of course saying, “Yeah, sure. That’d be great.”

“Zach, you want in?”

Zach looked between them, then shook his head slowly. “Nah, I’ll pass. Thanks, though. Have fun.”

Fucking turncoat _bastard_.

Karl just grinned this little excited grin and said, “Lead the way,” after they’d gotten directions. As Chris passed him, he couldn’t help but inhale, filling his lungs like a junkie looking for a second free hit.

Karl stayed close as they walked. Chris liked to imagine that Karl, even though he didn’t _know_ , exactly, was at least still drawn to Chris in some manner of speaking. It kept him from feeling like a total tool when all he could think about was leaning back into Karl, reaching back to wrap a hand around the back of his neck to pull down and push back until Karl surrounded him, filled him up with that heat and that _smell_ \--

Good god, he was never going to survive filming if he didn’t get a hold of this shit, and quick.

He picked up the pace, and when they made it through the door to the stage, the sight before them distracted him sufficiently for at least a moment.

It was huge, of course, because sound stages are like that, and it was mostly plywood-- but they could see the _idea_ of what it would become, and that idea was simply--

“Massive,” Karl said. His tone was reverent, and Chris found himself leaning in again. Fucking _sun_. Luckily he could hide it under the pretext of getting a different view, and if he found himself close enough to Karl to feel the heat coming off him, well.

It was intoxicating, having him this near, the rich, heady scent of him filling Chris’s nostrils and making him feel --high. He felt fucking buzzed, alight with it and muzzy at the same time. And staring at this indeed massive set, this set that held so much history, so much promise--

It was the beginning of many things. Chris could sense it, and it made him feel almost giddy. Like he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Jolly Rancher?”

The question came out of nowhere, and was totally out of place in the physical context as well. But Karl’s voice was soft, as he held out the roll of square candies, and when their eyes met, Chris knew that Karl was feeling the gravitas, too. Was not cheapening the moment, but was, in fact (and pardoning the pun), sweetening it.

“Sure.”

“I don’t like them when I’m home, but they’re all I can eat while I’m here, I dunno.”

Chris reached out his hand and held it open, palm up. Chris watched Karl wiggle the candy out the end and down.

Chris watched, and saw the tattoo.

Then his eyes wouldn’t move from it. Even as he unwrapped the candy and put in his mouth, his eyes couldn’t leave that little heart on that very important finger.

Karl, not a dumbass, saw. “Seemed a little more committed than just a ring, you know what I mean?” he said with a smile. “Especially in this business.”

Chris nodded. The candy tasted bitter in his mouth. “Yeah, totally. That makes sense.”

Pretty auspicious fucking beginning.

\---

Chris’s hands shook for fifteen minutes after they parted ways. And two hours later, he wondered if he was going insane.

Fate didn’t exist. And even if it did, it certainly wouldn’t hand him a shit dish like being in love with Karl Urban. Nobody’s _that_ cruel.

\---

“So,” Zach asked over the phone. “Dish.”

Chris peered down the aisle, wondering if it hid the good kind of Gatorade. “What?”

Zach sighed. “Tell me about the werewolves on set, dummy.”

“Oh. Well. Ah-ha, there it is.”

“What?”

“I’m at Ralph’s.”

“Ah.”

“Anyways. All five of them are betas.”

“Oh, thank god. That means there won’t be any gladiating.”

“Not unless Jim manages to piss me off again.”

“Jim? Jim Druthers?”

“As in the head of the studio, yes. He’s an alpha, and a class-A scumbag.”

“Scumbag? Who uses that term?”

“Him and his flunkies are the reason we have such a bad rep.”

Zach snorted. “Again with the terms. This is not the _Fresh Prince of Bel Air_. Or a fairy tale.”

“Dude, he _is_ the big bad wolf, don’t even think I’m joking.”

“What, like--”

“Like raping and eviscerating, yeah. Think mob boss with sharp teeth and fast healing powers.”

Zach quieted. “That’s disgusting.”

“Tell me about it.”

“No, thanks.”

“Ooo, double-stuff Oreos.”

“Classy.”

“And also totally not allowed right now. Unfortunately.”

“The pains of becoming a superstar.”

“Shut up.”

“Karl seems pretty amazing.”

“Hello, non-sequiter.”

He could almost hear Zach shrug over the phone. “I wasn’t interested in hearing you whine about having to leave behind the fatty cookies. Karl is much more of an entertaining topic. Did you see those dimples?”

“People three states away can see those dimples, comebreath.”

“Hey, now, you know I’m watching what I eat, too.”

“Ha, ha. You are so witty. Eww, crunchy Cheetos. A sin amongst snackfoods.”

“You are so queer.”

“Hey.”

“Can’t fight nature.”

“There’s nothing natural about crunchy Cheetos.”

“Yeah, because that’s what I meant. So, Karl.”

“Is apparently your favorite topic of conversation.”

“Think I have a chance?”

Chris came to a stop so suddenly his basket came _thisclose_ to crashing messily into the rows of neatly laid out junkfood. “What?” His voice sounded scratchy, even to his own ears.

“You know, with Karl the Wunderschlong.”

“You are such a prick sometimes.”

“Are you saying I’m no good for him?”

“No, I’m saying he’s married.”

“Oh, snap. Well, that doesn’t mean anything, necessarily. I mean, Jensen Ackles, hello.”

“I do not need to hear Hollywood’s Big Gay Secrets right now, okay. I’m trying to pick out dinner.”

“Get the fish.”

“He’s married for real, Zach. He has a tattoo instead of a ring.”

“Over-compensating.”

Chris shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Hmm. Well, that’s too bad, because he’s awfully pretty. In an extremely manly kind of way. I think I’d actually let him top. If he asked nicely.”

Chris felt his stomach lurch around sickly at the very idea. “Do you need some time to yourself?”

“Depends. Did you get the fish?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll see your skinny ass here in a half hour. I have risotto that’ll work with it.”

“Roger that.”

“Oh, baby, you know I love it when you use that soldier talk.”

“Shut up.”

“See you.”

“Bye.”

\---

Chris stuffed the Jolly Ranchers he’d just purchased into the glove compartment of his car on the way to Zach’s, cursing himself all the while, but knowing he’d keep buying them anyway. He had been a fucking English major; he had to be at least a little bit of a Romantic. Even if it killed him.

\---

And as rehearsals got serious and filming loomed, Chris thought he could handle it. Honest.

He really, really should stop making assumptions like that.

\---

“It fucking sucks, Katie. Why did I even let you talk me into a fucking sci-fi movie in the first place?”

“Christopher,” she chided him, “remember what the Chilis always say: Better to regret something you did, than--”

“Something you didn’t do, I know, I know.” He was quiet for a moment. “I still hate you.”

“That’s cool. I hate you too.”

\---

Because Chris had always thought turning would be the worst pain he’d ever know. He’d broken his arm the one time, yes, but turning was like breaking every bone at once, so no sweat. And sure he’d had his heart broken a time or two, or at least it had felt like it at the time-- girls he’d pined for, written poetry for, that had turned their noses up at him.

Being a teenager hurts everyone, and even manly souls like Chris’s get hurt more than you’d think.

But.

This.

This took the fucking cake. He was spending ten, twelve, fifteen hours a day playing a role he didn’t really like, a role he knew would suck up loads of his time for years to come and then stick with him after that because of fans that never say die.

And he had to do a lot of it with Karl Urban.

It fucking _sucked_.

And yet, the voice in the back of his head said to him far too often, it kind of didn’t. As much as it pained Chris, as much as it tortured him to know in his bones that what was supposed to be his would never _be_ his, seeing Karl still made him... happy. Made him feel better. Made a shitty day not so shitty. They laughed, they made fun of Zach and competed to hold doors for Zoe, they talked about westerns... They got along like gangbusters (“These _terms_!” he could hear Zach saying in his head), and Chris lapped up every second, hiding his sniffing and his accidental boners (shit, so ridiculous, he was twenty-seven for fuck’s sake) like a pro, stuffing poetry into his notebook like he was getting paid for it.

Thank God he was always relatively witty even under duress.

It mostly worked. There was an acutely embarrassing incident that day Bones spent manhandling Jim around Medical Bay, involving an inopportune hardening of man-parts, but Karl had merely blinked, smiled a kind, platonic, ‘I understand, buddy’ sort of smile, and then come up with some excuse to get them a breather.

As if Chris needed more reasons to be in love with the man.

\---

Chris worked himself up for Natalie’s visit. It happened right after filming, during that weird period of ADR and trying to come down from the high of photography, during which everybody usually slept about twenty out of every twenty-four hours.

But Karl invited him over, invited him out with them, and could he say no? Of course not. So he showed up, dressed nicely but not overly so, and tried not to vomit when he was introduced to a lovely, tiny, tan, blond woman that smiled up at him and shook his hand with a warm grip.

Then she sniffed delicately, and her eyes widened. She looked from him to Karl, who was futzing with something or other in the living room, and then back to him, distinct distrust and reservation in her eyes.

Chris’s heart skipped a beat.

She knew.

She fucking _knew_. She must've been from a line of weres, back in New Zealand. Sometimes the women of lineage had heightened senses, and good god did she zero in on him.

He wasn't even being obvious. He didn't think. Probably.

He tried to think of the last time he'd taken a suppressant. It was about the time he’d fucked Karen, so… a couple weeks, at least. Enough for it to be good and thoroughly out of his system, and if she had any scenting ability whatsoever, he was toast.

Which, well, he was, from the look on her face.

He wanted to protest. He wanted to pull her aside and tell her in no uncertain terms that he'd kept his hands to himself, that he'd made no claim, that he wasn't _going_ to make a claim--the guy had _kids_ with her, for Christ's sake, not to mention was stupid in love with her still-- But he never got the chance. Karl swept them all out the door to the car.

And that was that.

Chris shook it off as best he could, like he shook off pretty much every fucking thing these days, and went back to the business of living his fucked-up life.

\---

Getting back into things after a gigantic press junket like _Trek_ , however, wasn’t easy on any of them.

\---

 _From: John Cho  
Time: 12:16am_

 _Karl is here getting super drunk at my house. You should come collect him._

Chris looked at his phone, surprised. More than surprised. He knew Karl got along with John because they were both old married farts, as they said, but Karl was not known for his benders. Maybe John was exaggerating. He did that sometimes. Why he was calling upon Chris to deal with it, in any case, Chris wasn’t sure. But the instinct was there in Chris, to scoop Karl up and take care of him, make him happy in any way possible; maybe John, on some level, knew that.

Chris shrugged, grabbed his keys, and headed out.

\---

Turns out, John was _not_ exaggerating. An hour later, Chris was pouring an extremely intoxicated, extremely _handsy_ Karl Urban into his spare bed. (Not the couch. Part of being a grownup rich guy with a real house was having honest to god guest rooms, and fucked if he was going to let Karl motherfucking Urban sleep on his damn couch. Regardless of how nice said couch may be.)

“What’s got your tail in a knot, Urban?” Chris muttered as Karl finally dropped off, his hand clenched messily around Chris’s forearm where he’d grabbed on and not let go. It was a phrase Chris’s mom had said it a lot when he was a kid, and it seemed fitting.

Karl’s response was simply to roll into Chris’s hip and start snoring softly.

\---

"I read some stellar material today," Zach said casually while they lounged in his kitchen a week or so later. Chris was in between projects (but not long enough to go to Mexico, this time), and Zach was in LA for a weekend of meetings. Chris was not surprised Zach had had time between said meetings to peruse the internet; after Trek, Zach had discovered that great amusement lay in reading the stuff people wrote about them. One just had to know where to look.

"Yeah? Was I any good?"

"You were a fantastic lay."

"Coffee shop?"

"Oh, no, today I fucked your virgin ass _in space_." Zach stirred the mac n cheese. "I do not even want to know where they think semen goes in zero gravity."

Chris thwapped him on the back of the head. "So crude."

"But I just can't resist, muffin."

"Muffin?"

"It's better than cowboy."

Chris leaned back against the counter, his nose wrinkling. "Why do they always think I bottom?"

Zach shrugged. "I don't know. They must think your frat boy ass is just begging to be shown a good reaming." He passed Chris and smacked said ass. "If only they knew."

"Hey, there are some people I'd let fuck me." Chris turned thoughtful. "I mean, there's always--"

"George Clooney, yes, for the love of God, we _know_. Stop being so predictable."

Chris shrugged. "Nobody else comes to mind."

Zach turned to him sharply. "Liar."

Chris couldn’t fucking help it; base nature demanded he blush and his white skin showed it. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Liar!"

" _You_ don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, but I do. I do and you know what? It's _fine_ , Chris."

Chris snorted. "Yeah, totally fine. Wanting to fuck a married man into the mattress for the next hundred years is totally fine."

Zach did more than turn; he grabbed Chris by the shoulders and shook him. "Christopher."

But Chris's voice was as sharp as it ever--and rarely--got, and his hand wrapped around Zach’s wrist like steel. "Don't."

Zach studied his face. Then he turned back to his stirring. Even he knew when too much was too much. "A hundred years? I thought you said you weren't immortal."

"I was being figurative, you faggot."

"Touchy, touchy. Is poetry next?"

"Shut the fuck up. Maybe. Yes."

\---

Karl never mentioned the drunken rescue, and Chris sure as shit never brought it up. Life went on. Chris worked. Karl worked. They spoke on the phone occasionally but not much; Karl seemed busy with work in Toronto and Vancouver and LA and of course with his family in New Zealand, and Lord knew Chris’s schedule wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. Which was fully on purpose, partly because he loved his job and partly because it didn’t give him time to think about what shit the rest of his life was.

\---

Then, six weeks later, it happened again. Chris only heard about it this time, because he was in Vancouver filming (fucking Canada; he did have dinner with the boys from _Supernatural_ , though, which was a riot; it was like a puppy pushing against a turtle the whole time), so merely got wind of it through the grapevine.

 _From: Zach Quinto  
Time: 10:56am  
you missed some prime urban shenanigans last night, pine._

 _To: Zach Quinto  
Time: 11:02am  
Did he get drunk and tell Rings stories again?_

 _From: Zach Quinto  
Time: 11:04am  
no. well, yes, but more importantly, there was table dancing, running from the cops, and i think maybe even a midget. but i can’t be certain._

 _To: Zach Quinto  
Time: 11:31am  
You’re a filthy liar._

 _From: Zach Quinto  
Time: 11:37  
photographic proof:_

And there followed a picture, for real, of Karl Urban, shirt unbuttoned and boxers bared, on top of some table, his hips cocked out like he was mid-thrust, a huge, drunk smile on his face.

Chris stared at for a moment, memorized every last detail, then deleted it.

\---

It started becoming regular after that. Karl insisted that everything was fine, he worked his ass off on movies like _Red_ and _Priest_ (both of which, Chris will never admit to anyone, he had actually liked a lot), he stayed in New Zealand for as long as possible in between things, he insisted on staying with the same extended-stay suite he’d always used in LA instead of caving and subletting an apartment... And every few weeks, Chris would hear about or be witness to some crazy shit, usually involving alcohol but occasionally other drugs, and occasionally purely sober, as the one fountain incident attested.

It was like Karl was reliving the American college freshman experience he never had. It was weird as shit. And Chris was beginning to wonder if it was going to last forever.

A little under two years, was how long it lasted. And it ended with a joint and an envelope.

\---

The doorbell startled him out of his marijuana and Klausterman book haze. (The _Saved By the Bell_ essay? Totally the best one. Well, or maybe the one about Lloyd Dobbler.) He padded into the front hallway in his socks and boxers and undershirt, figuring if it was Zach he’d put up with the mocking and if it was anybody else he wouldn’t answer the door.

But then he looked through the peephole and it was Karl at the door. Of course, fucking of _course_ it was Karl. Chris was stoned off his gourd and in his underwear, and a Kiwi geek god was at his front door.

Well. Karl’d seen him in worse shape, really.

He pulled the chains and opened the door.

And he had only a second to take in Karl’s drawn, tear-stained face before Karl was pushing past him and into the house.

Chris shut the door behind him, his brows drawn together.”Karl? What--” He faltered. Fucking _words_. “What happened?”

Karl just held out a document envelope and looked at him, his eyes huge and red and oh God he looked like he was in so much pain that every instinct in Chris wanted to to reach out and grab him, surround him, drag him in, soothe every bit he could.

Instead, he clenched his jaw and reached for the package. “You sure?”

“Of course I’m fucking sure.”

Chris drew back. Karl was not one to curse casually. He took a surreptitious sniff, and-- yeah, Karl was not, at that moment, sober. Well. Neither was Chris. So. All’s fair.

“All right,” Chris said, trying to sound soothing without sounding patronizing. He probably failed on both counts. He opened up the envelope, already sick with the premonition of what he’d find inside... and he was right.

 _Order for Dissolution of Marriage_

“Karl...”

“Keep looking.”

“I can’t. I can’t just--”

“No, yes, you can. You fucking _can_.”

Chris gripped the envelope tight enough to bend the cardboard. “Why? What does this have to do with me?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?”

And Karl just stared at him, and Chris felt prickly hot all over, and curiosity didn’t just kill the cat, per se. So in he reached.

 _Chris_ , a smaller, greeting-card-sized envelope said on it in simple writing. “What the shit...”

“I didn’t open it.”

Chris looks up quickly. “You could’ve, I wouldn’t--”

“So do it before I stop being so polite.”

Jesus. “Okay, okay.” He slid his finger carefully under the seal, then less carefully when it didn’t give easily. The ripping sound was stark in the air.

It was a thank you card, one of those tasteful ones like brides send out after weddings to people that gave the happy couple toasters or Cuisinarts. A gardenia or some shit. But on the inside--

On the inside was a hand-written sentence that made the bile rise in Chris’s throat. Made him think he’d never be able to look Karl in the eye again. Made him know beyond a doubt that he’d have guilt as a close companion for the rest of his god damn life.

All it said was:

 _He’s yours now._

“Oh, fuck,” Chris choked out. “Karl, I’m so sorry-- I didn’t do anything, I swear to God-- she just--” He looked up, finally, met Karl’s eyes with the card already crumpling in his hand. “She just knew,” he finished hollowly.

Karl’s voice was wrecked. “Knew what?” He reached out for the card, but, being Karl, didn’t take it from Chris. Just held out his hand until Chris, his hand shaking, gave it and the envelope and the divorce papers back to him. He watched as Karl read the one sentence, his eyes growing impossibly wider.

“I’m sorry,” he offered again, unable to do anything else.

Then Karl met his eyes. “Knew what?” Karl repeated, softer this time, less wrecked but still beaten, unsure. His eyes on Chris’s were an unanswered question, and Chris couldn’t help it, he was drawn into the sun. Felt its heat on his skin as he stepped closer.

“Knew that I--” He swallowed. “Well. You know.” Fucking _words_ , he cursed again.

Karl’s eyes skidded to Chris’s lips, and Chris’s stoned brain jumpstarted. Or at least attempted. Fucking pot. “She knew.”

Chris watched as Karl moved in closer. The smell coming off of him was desperate, drunken, wanting. Chris couldn’t quite take in a whole breath. “I never told her, I swear. But. Yeah.”

“She knew--” Karl’s heat felt like it was reaching across with sneaky tendrils and drawing Chris in. “--and I didn’t. I knew this was coming--” He waved the papers once. “--have for a couple years now--but nobody bothered to tell me why.”

“Karl...” Inches away, now, and Chris might be superhuman, technically speaking, but this was just beyond the pale, expecting him to resist Karl so close, and so available, and smelling like _that_ \--

“What? You didn’t think I could handle it? Didn’t think I could possibly have thought the same th--”

Chris sucked the next words right out of Karl’s lungs.

Karl didn’t even make a token protest, instead opening up instantly. The press of lips Chris couldn’t resist became a wet, open, searching kiss ten times faster than it should’ve, highly inappropriate and probably damning but _fucking perfect_ anyways. He could taste everything, from what Karl’d eaten that day to what kind of cigarettes he’d smoked, plus the part that was just Karl, warm and delicious.

Being a good friend: 0. Chris Pine’s libido: 1

At that thought, he tried to break the kiss-- at least, in his head he tried, but in his head or perhaps even in reality Karl would have none of it, instead pulling on Chris by the hip and shoulder until they were flush against each other and the intentions were alltogether too clear.

But still, apparently to clarify, Karl shifted his hips not-so-subtly against Chris’s. (Probably would’ve been subtle, but alcohol’ll do that to a person.) Chris broke the kiss with a groan. “Karl...”

“What,” Karl murmured, leaning in again. Chris tried to dodge, at least a little, so Karl ended up with the corner of his mouth.

“You’re drunk. And rebounding.”

Libido: -1. He felt victorious for about half a second, until Karl went from the corner of his mouth down his jawline. Chris’s hand scratched up Karl’s neck and ended up in his hair, clutching on to nothing.

“I know,” Karl said quietly, between a kiss and a bite that had Chris’s whole body crying for mercy. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want this.”

“Yeah, but-- _fuck_ ,” Chris hissed out as Karl’s hand slid from his hip to his ass and pulled them closer, as Karl’s stupid hips ground into his like an animal’s.

Chris’s mind skittered away from that instantly. Back to the task at hand. “Just because we want it, doesn’t mean--”

But Karl was kissing him again, full on the lips, tongue pressing in, warm and strong against Chris’s, searching out all the dark places and letting Chris search out all of his. By the time it ended, they were twined around each other, near as could be, panting and moist and nobody, _nobody_ could’ve expected him to refuse the man anything, especially after his next words. Words breathed into Chris’s neck reverently, in a low, haunted, desperate voice.

“Please, Chris.”

Chris’s _heart_ \-- Oh, he knew he shouldn’t do it. He knew. But the heart.

He would take what he could get, whatever it may be.

“Okay-- fuck, okay, just-- You know where the bedroom is, just let me--” Chris kissed him quick and hard, then backed away to the bathroom. He tried to think as he rooted through the cupboards, but the pot and the pheromones and the _yeswantmine_ \-- He’d taken a suppressant recently, but he couldn’t remember when, exactly, so if he could just find the--

“Ah-ha!” He quickly let a booster strip melt on his tongue, then grabbed the open box of condoms and shit, he had to rummage around for the lube, too-- not usually an issue. There was a bottle of lotion by the bed (“What are you, twelve?” Zach had said when he’d seen it, but Chris had his reasons) but that would hardly do.

By the time he got out of there, he was half afraid Karl would’ve changed his mind. His heart thudded with the possibility, lurching sluggishly to thoughts of the awkwardness that would be the rest of his life--

But Karl was there, sitting on the bed. He wasn’t undressed or laid out like a porn fantasy, but he had unbuttoned his shirt and had his hands loosely laced together between his spread knees. The Man-Stance, Seated Version, Chris had called it in the past. He fucking loved it. Wanted to worship it.

He surged forward, tossed the stuff down onto the bed, and got to his knees. Karl sucked in a breath as Chris scooted forward, pressing gently on Karl’s thighs so he could settle there, so he could reach forward and smooth one hand underneath Karl’s undershirt while the other pushed the button-down off his body one shoulder at a time.

“I’m going to do something now,” he started saying, not knowing why he was talking but knowing he couldn’t do anything to stop it, “that I’ve never done before.” His hand slid down the warmth of Karl’s belly to his belt buckle. “So you should tell me if it’s awful.”

Karl chuckle-groaned, and reached down to cup Chris’s jaw. “As if it could ever be awful, with this mouth.” He smoothed his thumb over Chris’s bottom lip. “You don’t have to.”

Chris’s gut twisted with love for the man in front of him.

“Duh,” he said, his smile taking the edge off the word. _Except that I kinda do_ , he thought with clarity (surprising clarity for his state of sobriety). He kind of absolutely had to, every day twice a day for the rest of his life, if possible.

Yeah, he was a fucking lovesick idiot.

He tried not think about it. Instead, he tussled deftly with belt buckle and button and zipper until he reached warm fabric, then tugged, aided by Karl lifting his hips, until he reached hot skin.

Then he went a little crazy. He wasn’t to be blamed, really; the smell of Karl wafted up to him and his blood suddenly raced in his veins, making him hot all over as he leaned forward and licked a stripe up Karl’s half-hard cock. Then back down. He nuzzled into the crease between cock and thigh and tongued at his balls while tugging smoothly on the shaft with his hand, and breathed in as deeply as possible. Reveling in the scent of it all.

He felt Karl’s hand slide around the back of his neck, and colored a little, thinking he should probably get on with it. He took one last breath in and raised up, looking up at Karl with what he hoped was a reassuring smile before sucking the tip of Karl’s cock into his mouth.

His eyes fell shut of their own volition.

Good fucking Christ, Karl was _perfect_. Tasted even better than he smelled, and whereas at the beginning he’d had kind of a vague idea of just a bit of foreplay, Chris was suddenly and immediately determined to see this through.

He took an experimental suck. An answering grunt assured him he was headed in the right direction, and he tried not to think too hard as he slid his lips down the shaft then up again, trying to keep up with the sucking and the tightness of his lips, and pleased when he succeeded more often than he failed.

“Oh, Chris...” The hand on his neck tightened. “Knew your mouth would feel so good.”

Chris wasn’t sure if Karl was drunk and rambly or if he always talked like this in bed, but he was okay with it. Somehow it wasn’t awkward. Somehow it just made it all better. Lack of sobriety has many consequences.

The good news was that Karl wasn’t drunk enough to have issues getting it up, or coming on any sort of normal schedule -- Chris’s jaw was barely starting to ping before Karl really gripped at his hair and mumbled a warning, then a whole new flavor and smell exploded into Chris’s senses.

He couldn’t help the gutted, happy noise he made as he felt the contractions in his mouth. Seriously, couldn’t. Then his tongue sought out every drop it didn’t catch the first time, licking at delicate, tawny skin until Karl groaned and pushed him away.

Chris sat back on his haunches and wiped his face. His tongue darted out to the corners of his mouth and his other hand reached down to palm his own erection, but both actions were absently done. His brain was so foggy with pot and lust and Karl that he couldn’t think much at all, let alone intelligently or with intent.

He was slowly drawn back into context by Karl’s hands dipping up under his shirt. Then he felt warm lips on his jaw and blindly reached out for Karl’s shirt in response. They stripped each other slowly, with the careful motions of the unsober, and Chris licked what he could find, Karl’s dark skin a delicious contrast to his own.

Then, when they were completely naked, Karl pulled Chris down on top of him, and his brain fucking left the building. Officially.

“Karl--shit--I want to--” He stopped. Swallowed. Tried to stop his hips from humping into Karl _too_ obviously.

He failed, apparently, because Karl’s next words were: “Do it.”

Chris searched his face, feeling a little bit like a pussy, especially considering his status, but he wanted to know for certain. He _had_ to know for certain. “You sure?”

Karl nodded, then when Chris hesitated a little too long, Karl reached up and tweaked a nipple. Chris yelped. “I’m not exactly a blushing virgin here, Chris.”

Chris immediately, of course, blushed like the (contextual) virgin he was. Karl’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit. Really?”

Chris nodded, throat working but words abandoning him for the umpteenth time. Karl immediately reached up, his arms coming around Chris and pulling him down while his thighs came up tightened around Chris’s waist, and he kissed Chris slowly, wetly, intently, until Chris was crazy with it and thought his body would implode altogether, waft off like ashy smoke into the dirty LA night.

And then Karl did something so completely, dorkily _Karl_ that Chris was pulled right back to the here and now, back into the reality of the ridiculous wonderfulness of the man beneath him: He leaned into Chris’s ear and said, genuinely, roughly, affectionately: “I’m honored.”

Chris grinned against Karl’s cheek. He couldn’t help it. He could practically hear the ‘u’.

He pulled back, the grin still tugging at his lips. “You might not be in ten minutes.”

Karl grinned back at him, then it turned cheeky. “I’d give it two.”

Chris kissed him for his sass. Then girded his loins and got on with it.

He knew the basics of it--of course he did; he was a middle class American male, he’d grown up with internet porn--but still, he worried, his brain fretted as he sloppily poured some lube into his right hand.

Then, with the first touch of his finger against Karl’s clenched hole, instinct reared its head, and all the doubts, all the worries, all the what-ifs went away. He knew this. His body knew this, knew that Karl was it for him, knew _Karl_. Knew instinctively how far to venture with one finger, how long to give him to adjust to a second, where exactly to crook two to make his back arch with a surprised grunt.

“Yeah, you like that,” Chis found himself breathing out, and he’d be embarrassed by dissolving into porn lines but fuck, this was brilliant. Karl’s eyes were half-closed, the skin of his throat was shiny with sweat, and the most awesome sounds kept escaping from his throat. Especially when Chris added the third finger. Yeah, that was good shit. Chris almost forgot about his own need for release.

Well, almost. Life ain’t a fairy tale, afterall. And Chris’s cock was never anything but. So when Karl clenched his teeth and hiked his hips higher and demanded, “Now,” with a grunt, Chris scrambled all over himself to comply. Figuratively speaking. Physically speaking, he smoothed on a condom-- _that_ part, at least, was no different--and added more lube and lined everything up and--

“Oh, my God...”

Chris wasn’t even sure who said it, but it happened once he had sunk all the way home. It was all he was thinking, along with a litany of _fuckfuckfuck_ and Karl’s name on repeat. And Karl seemed to be much in the same predicament, as the words sliding out from between his lips as Chris’s cock slid slowly out of his body were a mixture of Chris’s name and panted nonsense curses.

That urged Chris on like nobody’s business. He pushed back into Karl, testing the waters, watching Karl’s face. Feeling the sensation on his cock, how it was different from being with a woman but really kind of the same. And because it was Karl, _his_ Karl--he couldn’t think of him any other way, morning light be damned--it was without a doubt the best he’d ever had.

The best he’d ever _been_ , too, he realized as he set up a rhythm, feeling Karl’s hands scrape along his back and hearing both their breathing get shorter, more stilted. Sweat started to drip from his forehead, which was gross--until Karl leaned up and licked it off.

“Karl, you’re...” was all Chris managed before swooping down for another kiss. As his rhythm picked up, his hips rutting consistently into Karl’s, it became more of just sharing air than kissing, until Karl’s lips formed his name again, insistent this time.

Chris got the message--again, some things were not so different--and reached down between them to grip Karl’s cock. With a few tugs, Karl’s breath hitched altogether differently. “Fuck, Chris, I don’t know how you managed it, but--” And with a choked off cry, Karl was coming again, warm and sticky across Chris’s hand.

Chris knew how he managed it. He knew. And as the thought reared back up in his head, his body reeled in sudden shock-- His knot was starting to grow.

 _No_ , he thought, screamed in his head. _It’s not fucking possible_.

He moved his hand back up to the bed beside Karl’s head, dropped his head down to Karl’s shoulder, and closed his eyes as he willed his fucking cock to behave. But Karl’s legs were tight around him, and Karl’s come was still hot between them, and Karl was pressing kisses to his neck and shoulder while their hips moved together and Chris-- Chris couldn’t stop it.

He closed his eyes, prayed to a God he didn’t believe in, and came.

\---

Later, as they laid curled together in a pile of sweat and spunk, Chris figured that he’d come before the knot had actually formed. Plus, condom. He was certain Karl hadn’t felt a thing.

And as he fell asleep with the scent of Karl rich in his nostrils, he knew the morning would bring awkwardness, but he also knew they’d exchanged no promises and made no declarations. He could handle it.

No harm, no foul.

\---

Except that Chris Pine is kind of an idiot. An idiot in love with Karl Urban. And that shit stays with you.

Not to mention: two weeks later, on one otherwise innocent morning, Karl Urban throws up his breakfast for no reason at all.

Life, as they say, is what happens when you’re making other plans.


	4. Part Three

“What the fuck crawled up your vagina and died?” Zach asks, flicking cigarette ashes in Chris’s general direction.

Chris grimaces. “Must you be a douche at five in the morning?” He slumps further into his sunglasses and onto the wooden railing. “I don’t even understand why we’re here.”

“Fresh air.” Zach takes another drag, then blows it out into the ocean breeze.

“Plus it’s the only time we can be on the beach without bodyguards.”

“There is that. Fucking Captain Kirk.”

“You wish.” It’s lovely and grey and pink outside, and Chris wants to murder small children.

“Nah, wouldn’t want to get in the way of your epic Kiwi romance.”

“Hey.”

Zach pats him on the hand. “Sorry. Too soon?”

Three weeks have passed since Chris woke up in an empty, sex-stale bed. So. “Would it matter if I said yes?”

Zach shrugs. “It’s early.”

“And...”

“And I kinda wanna kill the guy.”

“Zach...”

“No, listen. I understand the rules of rebound sex. And those rules are simple: Have it with someone you don’t give a shit about.”

“Maybe he did.”

Zach full on smacks him upside the head. “Christopher.”

“Well, excuse me. Call me a whiny self-indulgent ego with diva tendencies.”

“If you insist--”

“But if he gave a shit, he would’ve called.”

“Or I could just call a faggot a faggot.”

“I believe you mean spade.”

“Potayto, potahto.”

“And wait, who’s the spade here?”

Zach flicks his ash in Chris’s direction again. “He’s had a rough patch going lately. Sometimes you need to end those with a bang.”

“You know, you’re really annoyingly mercurial sometimes.”

“Oh, believe me, I know. Have you actually even called him?”

Chris licks his lips. “Texted.”

“You know he isn’t hip with that jive.”

“He’s texted me before.”

“Yeah, before his world exploded and landed in piles of divorce and gay sex.”

Even Chris had to admit: “... point.”

“Match.”

“Do you even know how to play tennis?”

“Not a clue.”

“Me neither.”

“We should have a party.”

“You should take your Ritalin.”

“I’m serious! I think it’d be just the thing. We’re in talks for Electric Bugaloo to start soon; it’s time for a class reunion.”

“So we can all get shitfaced and compare how fat we’ve gotten since high school?”

“Exactly.”

“I _will_ kill you.”

“No, you won’t. They’d have a bitch of a time recasting Spock.”

“Yeah, nobody else can pull off that Vulcan lisp.”

“Oh, you _are_ feisty this early in the morning.”

“I do what I can.”

\---

Zach is as Zach does, however, and two weeks later finds Chris helping him set up streamers--streamers!-- across the windows of some hipster joint that specializes in mac & cheese.

 _Twenty dollar_ mac n cheese. And Chris is pretty sure the set-list is Lady Gaga, followed by more Lady Gaga, possibly interrupted by a little bit of Lady Gaga.

Okay, that’s harsh. There’ll probably be some George Michael in there, too. Zach never can resist the WHAM.

\---

People trickle in, drinks get served, socializing gets done. It’s a small party, the cast and ADs and such--and the focus puller; ever since Chris heard Johnny Depp go on about the true measure of your performance being whether or not the focus puller laughs, he’s been kind of obsessed. Helps that the guy is a champion among men, too.

Said focus puller--Jason--claps Chris on the shoulder. “Pine! You ready for another round of these shenanigans?”

Chris grins at him, already a few drinks in and nicely buzzed. “Hell, yes. Especially if Kirk gets laid this time.”

“You like having to wax your chest every day for a week?”

Chris rubs his hands over his button down, somewhere in between a come-hither gesture and a post-belch one. “Chicks dig scrawny white guys, what can I say?”

Jason snorts. “Yeah, sure. Scrawny, that’s what everybody calls you.”

Chris is about to retort--Jack Skellington is somewhere in the punchline--when he hears a thud and picks up the scent of a particular brand of testosterone. He groans under his breath, then downs another shot to steel himself. “Excuse me, Jay.”

Jason just raises an eyebrow at him, then salutes. Chris backs away until he’s sure where the noise is coming from, then heads there, and sure enough, one of the betas has gotten himself backed into a corner by a pissed off key grip. The guy is burly and the beta is not, but they’re both pissed enough to not even care; the beta has his back to the wall, which clearly made the thunk Chris heard, and he looks smug as shit. The grip looks like the beta just fucked his sister _and_ pissed in his cornflakes.

Either are a distinct possibility, at this point. Chris doesn’t have anything against him, but he’s kind of a shit-stirrer.

“Aaron,” he says sharply.

The beta’s shoulders immediately tense. “What.” It’s not a question.

“Let’s take a walk.”

“Fuck you,” Aaron retorts, and Chris isn’t sure who he’s directing it at, but the grip takes it personally and shoves Aaron back again. Aaron snarls, and advances on the guy, and Chris is so annoyed he lets them have at it for a minute.

But then Aaron shoves a little too hard, uses a little more strength than a guy his size should have, and Chris sighs and steps in.

Pulling punches, it takes five minutes to get them apart, and Chris is positively dying for a cigarette afterwards. That’s probably why he doesn’t notice until too late that there’s a new scent in the room.

Karl.

He turns immediately towards the smell. Karl’s moving into the room, shaking hands and slapping backs and smiling at everyone. Chris watches, his gut churning. Karl looks good, he notes. Of course he does, but he’s got this little extra glow about him tonight. He looks a little tired, though, and--

Chris’s eyes narrow. Karl smells different. Smells like Karl, yes, and smells pretty intoxicated already, but... there’s something else, something new, something--

Karl steps over to greet someone a few feet from Chris, and Chris takes a deep breath. Surreptitiously, of course. Yup.

He just can’t place it. It’s fucking sexy, whatever it is. As if Karl’s smell didn’t scream ‘take me now’ at Chris before.

Finally, they’re face to face. It’s fucking awkward. Chris steels himself and holds out a hand. Karl looks at it, then looks at Chris. Then his face softens, and he pulls Chris into a hug. “Hey,” he says quietly into Chris’s ear.

“Hey yourself,” Chris replies as he pulls back, going for cautious but knowing he’s failing. He’s like a fucking puppy around this guy.

Karl fidgets. It’s so unlike Karl that Chris has to refrain from reaching out to calm him. “Sorry I’ve not... been in touch.”

Chris shrugs like it’s no big deal. “It happens.”

“Yeah...”

“Life happens.”

The air is heavy. Chris wishes he were drunker.

“Yeah, it does. I’ve had to get a place, you know.” Karl gestures. “Around here.”

Chris nods. “Right. How’s that going?”

“All right, except that I came down with this stomach bug or something, chundered on and off for a few weeks.” At Chris’s raised eyebrow, he translates. “Vomited. Puked. Was generally disgusting.”

Chris’s gut twinges in sympathy. “That sucks, man.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “You need any more help? Because I could tota--”

Then, suddenly, hand on his neck, mouth open mid-word, he stills.

And it feels like the world stills with him, grinding to a halt like everyone’s being dragged through goo. He can’t think, beyond the one conclusion his mind has helpfully pieced together from the clues around him.

“Karl,” he says lowly. He takes a step forward, drawn in by the smell and the heat and the _knowledge_.

“What?” Karl is peering at Chris like Chris is the one in danger of vomiting. It’s not far from the truth.

“Karl...” Chris reaches out, encircles Karl’s wrist with his fingers. He’s got no other option; his instincts are screaming at him, and Karl is right fucking in front of him, and there’s a dark hallway with their names on it.

“What the hell?” Karl looks genuinely concerned now, and isn’t that fucking backwards. Chris wants to laugh but it’s stuck somewhere in his lungs.

“I need--you--to come with me right now.”

“But--”

“No. Just--” He tugs, and they’re gone, out the door and into the back hallway and then Chris just lets go. He pushes Karl into a wall and slams their lips together, unable to do anything but kiss him, touch him everywhere he can.

He drinks in this man in front of him, this man he never knew he’d been waiting for, this man who is quite probably _carrying his child_.

Because he can tell, now. Instinctively. Lizard brain sort of thing, or, more appropriately, wolf-brain sort of thing. He knows in his gut that through some miracle of supernatural proportions, Karl’s somehow got a tiny _person_ growing inside him because of Chris. Well, possibly a person. Possibly a werewolf. But Chris is too drunk on alcohol and pheromones to really think that through.

Karl submits for a while, opening his mouth to Chris’s tongue and settling his stance so Chris can press in at least somewhat between his legs. And it’s fucking amazing. Chris is filled with it all, filled with alcohol and lust and the idea that this is his mate and his baby--his hand finds its way under Karl’s shirt, touching his belly reverently with soft fingers--and his fucking _future_.

His lips trail along Karl’s jaw while his hand makes its way under the waistband of Karl’s slacks and boxers. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t ask, just takes by giving, his hand working Karl’s length while he soaks up Karl’s pants and curses with kisses and licks. The smell coming off Karl is _phenomenal_ , and Chris almost considers taking his time but then he’s selfish, wants to see that look on Karl’s face again, and again and again and again, to be the only one--

Oh, there it is. Karl’s eyes scrunch up and his mouth opens in a wordless noise as he spills, hot and heavy, over Chris’s hand.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Chris breathes into Karl’s cheek, dipping down to kiss his neck, the shell of his ear, as he works Karl through it then slows his movements. “Gorgeous, and mine.”

Karl stills.

Chris leans back, but doesn’t remove his hands. His eyes find Karl’s, and he’s surprised to find Karl’s brows drawn together.

“Karl?” Chris manages, feeling dumb but he just doesn’t get how things could go wrong at this point, how any part of this could be construed as not being the best thing to come along _ever_ \--

“I’m not yours,” Karl finally says quietly.

Chris’s gut kicks. He extracts his hands, trying not to notice that they’re shaking. “But I thought--” But his mouth snaps shut, because the words, the _right_ words, just aren’t there.

He’d thought actions would be enough.

Karl sighs while tucking in and buttoning up efficiently. “I’m no one’s, all right? Just--” He cups Chris’s cheek, the skin around his eyes tight. There’s so much heat, emotion coming off him-- Anger, sadness, loneliness, love, lust... But presiding over all of them is anger. “You’re lovely. And this is...” His lips twitch a little. “...fun.” Chris’s gut kicks again. “But I’m nobody’s.”

He kisses Chris, lightly, on the corner of the mouth mostly. And then he’s gone.

Chris stands there for a moment, wondering what the hell just happened. Then he shoves open the door to the alley, leans over, and throws up.

\---

The next morning, all he can think to do, after waking up and remembering everything with painful clarity, is reach for the phone and call his mother.

“It’s early for a Sunday,” is her greeting.

“Mom.”

Her mom-dar is immediately on red-alert. “Honey, what is it?”

“I... can I come over?”

“Of course. Your father’s off at the bookstore, but--”

“I’m leaving right now.”

\---

His mother is unsurprisingly--but still unpleasantly--unsympathetic.

"I don't understand, Chris. We raised you better than that."

"Oh, Mom, for God's sake. I was stoned as shit, I took a suppressant, _and_ we used a condom. And I can't believe you even questioned that, let alone that we're _talking about it_. As if I don't already have a multitude of reasons for therapy."

"Everyone has a multitude of reasons for therapy," Gwynne answers automatically, but her mind is clearly somewhere else. “Has he been acting differently recently?”

“Of course he has, he just got divorced. And divorce in New Zealand, apparently, takes a hell of a long separation before it can be legalized, so he’s been kind of on a roller coaster for a while now.”

“Interesting analogy. Were there any patterns?”

“Besides always involving Jim Beam and law-breaking? Well, there was that one time, with the fountain, but--”

“How often?”

“Every few weeks, Jesus, Mom, I don’t know. I’m not his keeper.”

“You are now,” she replies sharply, “whether he likes it or not. It sounds like he had some were genes in him that were dormant until his life went to shit and his hormones went a little wacky. It honestly sounds like he was in heat, Chris.”

“There was no sex!”

“Is Karl the cheating kind?”

“No.”

“Well, then, he was channeling the urge into other, less productive behaviors. He probably didn’t even know he was doing it.”

Chris ponders this. “Cho did like to call it ‘manstruating.’”

Gwynne smirks at that, then is all business again. "Must've been latent were in him somewhere."

Chris suddenly realizes how fucking crazy this all sounds. "It can't be latent."

"Grey areas, Chris. What have we been teaching you since you were--"

"Alright, fuck, I get it--" He sees her Look. "Sorry. But I get it. I just don't _get_ it."

She shrugs, and her nonchalance makes him even more angry. "Shit happens."

He gapes at her. "Seriously?"

She blinks at him. "What?"

"I knocked up a human. A _male_ , straight, recently divorced, human father of _two_ who doesn't even know I'm--" He gulps in a breath and leans over, supporting himself with his hands on his knees. "Oh god I think I'm going to puke."

"Sympathetic morning sickness."

"Mom!"

She gently but firmly grabs his shoulders and pulls him upright. "I'm sorry, Chris, but you're going to have to deal with it." Her eyes are bright. She's not as unaffected as her words say, but she soldiers on. "You are an adult. You made this choice when you had sex with someone you knew you had such a strong connection with." She cups his cheek. "You did your best, hon. And now you have to do better."

"I don't know--" His voice breaks, something that hasn't happened in like fifteen years, but if there's one person he's allowed to fall apart in front of, it's his mom, right? "I don't know how."

"Sure you do." She smiled. "We'll get more books. You like books. There are plenty of books on this, I'm sure." She stops. "Well, perhaps not on _this_ , particularly, seeing the--uh--unusualness of the situation. But. Hell, after this, you could write one."

 _Chris groans. "Sure, Mom. We'll call it 'What Not to Do.'"_

 _"Yeah, no, we’ll think of something better."_

 _“Thanks.”_

 _\---_

 _She sends him out the door with a mandate to come clean with Karl--before the next full moon, which, she reminds him firmly, is alarmingly soon; as if he hadn’t already known--and make it all better. And to call her more often._

 _Fucking _mothers_. He’s never loved her more._

\---

He hits the fourth number on his speed-dial and listens to the faint whistle in his bluetooth. “I’m on my way over,” he says as soon as Zach picks up.

“Hello to you, too.”

“Do you have anyone you need to kick out?”

Zach tuts. “Already done, honey. You know me.”

“All right, then. Be there in a few.”

“Okay, but what’s this all about? You’re sounding like--”

“I’ll be there in a few,” Chris says, in a tone that leaves no room for argument.

“...all right, all right,” Zach acquiesces. Chris hears him add, “Pussy,” right before he disconnects the call.

\---

Zach opens the door with a smirk already on his face. “You’d better be glad I know your proclivities, princess, or last night’s little little tete-a-tete would’ve been interrupted approximately eighteen times.”

Chris doesn’t even bother with the banter. He walks into the front hallway, takes a deep breath, and looks Zach square in the eye. “There’s something I haven’t told you.”

Zach squints at him, and his voice lowers in volume. “Oh, dear.”

“Yeah.”

“Is this going to require alcohol?”

Chris shakes his head, smiling ruefully. It’s really more like a grimace. “There’s been too much of it already.”

“Oh,” Zach says, like he understands, and he probably does. He grabs Chris’s wrist and leads them to the couch. Noah jumps up to cuddle in a huge bony pile on Chris’s lap, and he’s grateful.

“It’s Karl, isn’t it?” Zach says needlessly.

Chris can only nod, his hand worrying the fur behind Noah’s left ear.

“It didn’t go well last night? He did seem to disappear rather quickly.”

“No. I mean, no, it didn’t go well--well, it did, and then it didn’t--but that’s not--” He huffs out a breath. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“The beginning?”

Chris raises an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“Swearsies.”

“Well. We don’t really know when it started.”

“We?”

“Werewolves.”

“Ah.”

“Our written history is about as long as yours, and even less well-preserved, because there are way fewer of us.” He runs a hand over Noah’s head. “And that’s really the issue. We...” He finally gives up. “Didn’t you ever wonder, if we’re all male, but we’re not immortal, how we survive as a species?”

“It had occurred to me, yes. But I just assumed that you occasionally fucked women and had little recessively-gened were-babies.”

“Yeah, no. I mean, occasionally. But... also occasionally... we manage it ourselves.”

“I don’t understand.”

Chris groaned. “Don’t make me say it.”

Zach stares at him for a moment. Then he looks positively gobsmacked. “Oh, no.”

“Yes.”

“You’re telling me--” He stops, a hand over his mouth.

Chris blows out a breath. “Yes.”

“Ass-babies?” Zach says, clearly horrified.

Chris reaches out with his free hand and punches Zach on the shoulder. “I hate you.”

“So that’s a yes.”

“No, that’s not a yes. That’s a... kind of.”

“You’d better fucking be ready to follow up with the details, my friend.”

Chris is, eager to get it the hell over with. “Omegas. They can... become...” Chris makes a shapey gesture. “With child.”

Zach snorts at that. “Like the Virgin Mary. Except for the virgin part.”

“And the female part.”

“So how? Since apparently it’s not a miracle from God.”

Chris shrugs. “I’ve never studied the science of it all that hard, for obvious reasons, but omegas most definitely have the plumbing for it. Dormant or whatever; we do a lot of fucking but not a lot of breeding.”

“Where’s the out-hole?”

“You are disgusting.”

“Birth is disgusting! Even the normal, human, woman kind.”

“True.”

“So?”

“It’s kind of like a natural C-section. Only out of the side. It’s all very god-like, if you think about it, springing fully formed from Zeus’s head and all that.”

“Uh, sure. Are they fully formed?”

“No. They’re babies just like I was, don’t turn for the first time until sometime in puberty. You know, if they’re boys.”

Zach looks a little pale, but otherwise he’s taking this like a champ. Then he asks the hard question. “So. What does this have to do with Karl?”

Chris fidgets, playing with Noah’s chin whiskers now. Noah just looks at him. He and Zach have the same expectant look on their faces.

“Karl’s not a were,” Zach points out helpfully after Chris stays silent.

Chris takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “He... is now. Apparently.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“No.”

“You are _shitting me_.”

“Why the fuck would I?”

“I thought you couldn’t turn people!”

“I can’t! _We_ can’t. I’m not fucking sure how it happened, to tell you the truth. My mother has this crazy theory about latent genes and hormones and stress levels, but who the fuck knows?”

Zach watches him for a moment. “I think you might have had something to do with it.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Chris snaps.

“Not on purpose, no. But this whole thing reeks of destiny instead of happenstance. Fate, if you will.”

“I won’t.”

“Maybe you should.”

“I don’t believe in fate.”

“Okay, Neo.” Then his eyes widen. Chris holds his breath. “Wait, so you’re telling me Karl’s not only a werewolf, but a _pregnant_ one?”

Chris winces. Then nods.

“How do you know?”

“I just do. Call it instinct.”

“Fate, darling.”

“Plus vomiting.”

“Oh, ew.”

“Hey, that’s my mate you’re making that face about.”

“Oh, is that how it is now? What did Karl say when you told him?”

Chris... doesn’t answer.

“Christopher.”

“What.”

“Tell me you told him.”

“No.”

“Tell me you are a man, not a whiny little bitch, and actually _told_ this poor guy you--you _knocked the fuck up_ \--and Jesus H Christ I can’t believe I’m actually saying that--what has actually happened.”

“How the hell am I supposed to?”

“No!” Zach’s voice is low and unforgiving as he stands, and Noah must be able to sense the shift because he immediately vacates Chris’s lap. “I get that you needed to tell your mom first,” Zach starts patiently. “I get that you needed to use me as a trial run.” Then his gaze turns frosty. “I get it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not fucking deplorable.”

Chris stands with a curse, but Zach keeps going. “As crazy as all this shit is--And trust me, it is fucking _crazy_ \--but it’s also apparently real and apparently happening and you--” He stabs Chris in the chest with a finger. “-- _you_ have got to stop playing the Hollywood boy and start acting like a man. Like a _father_.”

Chris is suddenly furious. “Hey, I tried! I fucking tried, and Karl said no. What am I supposed to do? I can’t force him into anything!”

“Did he have all the facts?”

“He wouldn’t let me give them to him!”

“Did you try hard or did you just shove your hand down his pants and hope it would work?”

Chris feels a coldness explode in his chest. “Fuck you, Quinto.”

“That’s what I thought. Get the fuck out of here and fix this.”

\---

The door slams behind Chris.

It’s five-thirty on a Sunday afternoon and he has no fucking idea what to do.

\---

By nine-thirty, the sun has gone down, Chris’s hands have stopped shaking, and he’s finally able to press the call button on his phone.

Voicemail picks up.

“Karl...” he says into it. “Man, I need to talk to you. I know we’re supposed to start rehearsals soon, but... You should call me back. I need--” He puffs out a breath. “Yeah. Just. Call me.”

He presses the End key, stares at the phone. Breathes in. Tries not to hear the same words over and over in his head, Karl’s, then Zach’s, then Karl’s again-- _I’m not yours_ \--

The phone buzzes in his hand. He gulps in a breath and picks up after the first ring. “Karl.”

“Funny,” the familiar voice answers, “that’s my name too.” Chris doesn’t have to smell him to know he’s been drinking. His heart startles into a rapid beat in his chest. Karl doesn’t know, and Karl’s drinking, and Karl may have a were’s healing powers now but the baby doesn’t yet, and Chris is suddenly terrified, suddenly overly protective toward both of them--

“Where are you?” He tries to hear clues around the speaker, but Karl’s phone is a piece of shit.

“Well, I was at McCoy’s...”

Chris looks up at the green neon sign flashing ‘McCoy’s’ above him. He’d wandered to this area for no reason about an hour ago. He should’ve fucking known. “And now...?”

“Now I’m... watching time and tide wait for no man.”

And Chris can _see_ him, now, down the pier. The ocean breeze, more turbulent than normal this cloudy evening, has hidden the scent, whipped it around the night and out into the sea.

It’s pretty much the longest thousand feet he’s ever walked in his life.

Karl looks gorgeous, in the darkness and the wind, leaned over the railing far enough to make Chris’s heart kick up even more of a fuss: Chris’s instincts claw at him to retrieve Karl, drag him by the hand, arm, scruff of the neck until Karl is inside, safe, sober. And Chris is dead certain--noting that Karl doesn’t turn to greet him, knowing the stiffness of Karl’s shoulders is unnatural--Karl wants nothing of the sort.

Too bad, so sad. If Chris has to man up, here, then so does Karl.

When he reaches Karl, he pauses. Then he joins him at the railing. The ocean is black and roiling. Well, roiling for the southern California coast, but whatever. It feels significant. He stares at it, and tries to think of what to say.

“Come home with me,” he finally manages. “I have Jolly Ranchers.” It’s not the most brilliant opening line, but at least it’s honest.

Karl raises his head, looks at the sky instead of the sea. His voice is resigned. “Chris...”

“No, listen. I know you’re pissed at me, and I know you’re in a bad place, but I need to show you... I swear, I can--” _Fuck_ , why must he suck so much at talking? “ Just--” He reaches out, instinctively going to cup the base of Karl’s neck but ending up at the crook of his elbow. “Please.”

Karl finally looks at him, then. His eyes are unfathomable in the low light. “Fine, but my place. That way I can kick you out when you piss me off.”

Chris smiles. It’s mostly real. “Aye, captain.”

\---

It’s an old joke, one from back when they were shooting the first movie--which feels like eons ago, to Chris--and Karl had plopped in Kirk’s bridge chair during a reset. There hadn’t been fanfare; only Chris and the camera had caught him.

It may or may not be Chris's most cherished memory from filming.

\---

“Coffee?” Karl asks when he’s done with the bathroom.

Chris turns from where he was watching the steady _dripdripdrip_. “Decaf.”

Karl snorts, but he’s moving closer to Chris, and his eyes are clear and open. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?”

Chris’s eyes stray to Karl’s midsection for a brief moment. “A little.” Then he closes the few steps between them lightly, leans in far enough to kiss the corner of Karl’s mouth, just once. “Maybe I just like the taste.”

Karl doesn’t respond, and Chris is okay with it--forces himself to be okay with--but then Karl reaches in and takes Chris’s mouth in a sweet, still-slightly-drunken kiss. He presses up against Chris, not hard or rough but firm, insistent, getting them lined up, as close as they can be from nose to toes. Warmth surrounds them, tendrils of honey warmth that smell like--

Like home.

Chris lingers on Karl’s bottom lip as the kiss ends. Their hips are starting to make subtle movements together, circling, unable not to, not sexual yet but intense all the same. Chris pushes into it a little more, enjoying the slow quiet friction.

Karl makes a sad noise. “I don’t get it,” he says into Chris’s chin. “I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s not fair to-- to be with you when I’m like this, but I just can’t--can’t--” He kisses Chris again, his arms reaching around to pull Chris impossibly tighter against him. “And I don’t know why.”

And this seems to pain him most of all, which makes Chris’s heart twist in a new way.

He breathes in deeply, shoring himself and storing up Karl’s smell. “Yes, you do,” he finally says, mutters into the skin of Karl’s neck.

Karl groans, and not altogether in a good way. “Chris...”

“No, just listen to me.” He nips a spot below Karl’s ear, then soothes it with his tongue. Karl clutches at him. “How else would I know exactly where to--” He sucks at the spot again. “And how to--” He pulls at Karl’s ass with his hand, kneading gently to the place where it meets Karl’s thigh, then settling in.

“Sheer, dumb--” Karl hisses as Chris licks his way down the tendon in Karl’s neck. “--luck?”

Chris chuckles. He captures Karl’s lips in another kiss. Then he quietly says, “I also know that you’re not sleeping.”

Karl grunts, shaking his head, his lips brushing side to side against Chris’s. “I look like hell, that’s not exactly rocket science--”

Chris pulls back, but keeps their bodies firmly locked together, and looks him square in the eye.

“I know that you’ve been napping every day from one to three, schedule permitting, and then maybe from ten pm to one am. Hours vary with how nauseous you feel. I know that you’ve broken things in your house recently, because they seem to break easier and you don’t even realize you’ve done it until it’s over. I know that things are smelling ridiculously strong to you, including me right now. I know you’ve been getting tenser this week, the last few days, like you need a serious massage otherwise your muscles are going to start to cramp. And your bones kind of ache, enough that you’ve dreamt about having leukemia or something. And I know that you have no idea why.”

Karl is staring at him. “How... I don’t even...”

“ _I_ know why.”

And he takes a deep breath, and changes.

It screams through his body, the breaking and resettling of bones and tendons and muscles into different shapes, but it’s over in a blink and then his claws clack on the floor as he’s looking up at Karl, whose beautiful mouth is open, round, wet, a little slack.

“What... the...” Karl’s hand reaches out, automatically; he’s good with horses and dogs so his palm is up and Chris leans forward and nudges it once. “...fuck.”

It’s as good a time as any for swearing, Chris figures.

“You’re...”

Chris nudges his hand again, and Karl easily runs his fingers over Chris’s furry skull and starts scratching behind his ears.

“A werewolf?”

Chris pushes into Karl’s hands with an affirmative noise.

“That’s--” Karl rubs the end of Chris’s left ear, then suddenly he’s plopped down on the floor in front of Chris, a huge smile dimpling his face. “Fucking _awesome_.”

Chris’s heart swells to three times its wolfy size. He cocks his head at Karl, resisting the urge to jump on him, then decides to hell with it. Fuck dignity, this is his mate and he wants to cuddle. Wants to rub all over him in this form. Smell every inch of him and mark him up with his scent.

Not that Chris is territorial. Nope.

Karl laughs delightedly and envelopes Chris in that kind of pat-pat-hug-squeeze you give big dogs. Chris leans into him like big dogs do. Karl laughs some more. “This is so cool. I knew you were hiding something but I figured it was just--” He stops talking abruptly. He doesn’t stop petting, but when he stays quiet Chris untangles himself enough to put his wet nose on Karl’s jaw. Karl chuckles. His voice is quieter when he starts talking again. “Just you being in love with me.”

Chris feels an ache bloom in his chest. He doesn’t hesitate before changing back, and ends up with his ass on the kitchen floor and his legs splayed around Karl’s hips, which is a little rude--his mother would tsk--but pretty much exactly where he wanted to be, anyways.

“Of course I’m in love with you.” He grins. “Pretty much everyone who meets you is in love with you. I’m thinking of starting a club.”

Karl reaches out and pinches Chris in the side. Chris yips--totally doesn’t sound like a puppy, no sir--and grabs Karl’s hand, pulling them closer, until he’s pretty much unabashedly in Karl’s lap. He’d worry about being heavy, or bony, but Karl’s a were now, Karl can handle--

Chris’s smile fades.

“What?” Karl asks.

Chris stalls. “You don’t seem so shocked.”

Karl shrugs, but his cheeks are a little pink. “Natalie...”

Oh, duh. “She told you about her family?”

Karl looks up quickly, clearly surprised. “You knew?”

“Yeah, of course. As soon as we were in the same room, we both knew. It’s part of... It’s a thing. We-- Smelling. We’re good at it. It’s hella annoying sometimes, but it can also be...” _Fascinating. Invigorating_. Chris thinks of how Karl smells to him. _Fucking distracting._ “Useful.” Then a thought occurs to him. “Hey, Hunter or Indy could turn out to be, too, you know.”

“Nah, Nat says it’s a long way back on her side, and non-existent on my side.”

Chris knows he can’t ignore the segue, but he’s still not stoked about his next sentence. “....that’s not precisely true.”

“What?”

Chris rubs the back of his neck. “That’s why you’ve been feeling... weird lately. I mean, part of it.”

“What, because my ex-wife’s great-grandfather was a werewolf? That hardly makes any sense.”

“No. Because _you’re_ a werewolf.”

Aaaand there’s the eyebrow.

“Seriously,” Chris insists. “You’re new, somehow, like a fucking miracle of supernatural science, but it’s the truth.”

The eyebrow doesn’t move. “Chris.” He says it the way he’d say ‘you’re fucking insane.’

Chris makes a frustrated noise. “Haven’t you wondered? The aches? The hearing? The _smelling_? Those are all part of being a were. And--” He tightens his grip on Karl’s hand reflexively. “Full moon is tomorrow.”

Karl’s jaw tics.

“You know I’m right, Karl.”

But Karl’s shaking his head. “You’re wrong.”

“Tell me right now you can’t hear my heartbeat.”

“I--” Karl face goes kind of scrunchy. “I just figured that was--that’s because I’m--” He shuts his mouth.

Chris’s breath catches in his throat. “You’re what?” he says lowly.

Karl sits there, still, for a moment, Chris tense in his lap, then huffs. “I’m fucked up right now, is what I am, but that doesn’t mean I’m a bloody _werewolf_. I think I’d know, don’t you?”

Chris searches his face. “Well, what _do_ you know?”

Karl sighs. His hands come to rest on Chris’s ass and snugs them together further, and he leans his forehead against Chris’s. “I know I can’t seem to leave well enough alone when it comes to you.”

Chris snorts. “As if I’d let you.”

“Tenacious little sod.”

“Oo, SAT word, Mr. Urban.”

“You turned on?”

Chris feels heat start to spiral through him. “Yes,” he says easily. “You’re here, aren’t you?” He leans to the right, noses Karl’s cheek, jaw, the shell of his ear. “And you have no idea how good you smell.” His lips hover, his breath cascading over stubbled skin. “How good you taste.”

The groan that comes out of Karl sets Chris’s teeth on edge, in a good way, and he’s about to push Karl backwards and fuck him right there, cold floor be damned, when Karl suddenly wraps his arms around Chris and heaves up--Chris instinctively hooks his ankles together and tightens his thighs around Karl’s waist--and hauls himself--them both--up to a standing position.

“Holy fuck,” Chris practically whimpers. He hasn’t been with anybody as strong as himself in... ever. “That was hot as shit.” He kisses Karl hard, then pulls back. “That’s were strength, you know.”

Karl just smiles at him, nibbles at his lip. “Nah, I’m just a stud.”

Chris laughs, with teeth. “Prove it.”

Karl’s eyes twinkle and darken at the same time. Chris watches, slightly mesmerized. “Gladly.”

\---

Karl holds Chris steady and strips him down methodically after lowering him to the bed. Chris recognizes it for what it is, Karl trying to regain footing when his life is a little like a gigantic waterslide, so he lets it happen.

He revels in it, in fact. He watches Karl’s hands smooth over his skin, soaks up the warmth spread in their wake. He listens to his own grunts and Karl’s whispered endearments against the skin of his stomach and thighs as Karl lowers himself to return the favor from last time, Karl’s mouth sinful hot on his cock and balls. He thrusts willingly into Karl’s mouth when Karl’s huge liquid fiery eyes request it, and he lets himself come when it’s clear Karl’s not interested in stopping.

And when Karl looms over him afterwards, so warm and now smelling like them both, Chris knows what he’s going to let happen next. It goes against his supposed nature, his supposed station, his supposed lot in life -- but, staring up at this man, he is more sure than he’s ever been of anything that this is where he’s supposed to be. In a dance of give and taken, push and pull. Equals with this amazing, beautiful, ridiculous man. Tradition and station be damned.

His mother, he has a sneaking suspicion, would be proud.

...and he should totally not be thinking of his mother right now.

“Chris, I know you’ve not--” Karl interrupts Chris’s Oedipal moment, thank fuck. It takes Chris a moment to realize that Karl, awkward, adorable Karl, is trying to work himself up to asking permission to fuck him.

Chris immediately traps Karl’s torso between his thighs. So warm. “Karl,” he tries.

But Karl doesn’t really hear him, just plows on. “But I really want to-- Can-- I promise it’ll be good-- May I?”

Chris reaches up and grabs Karl’s face with both hands. Karl finally meets his eyes. “Of course you can. May. I may not’ve been with a guy before, but this isn’t all entirely new to me, if you know what I mean.”

Karl heaves out a sigh of relief so big Chris almost laughs. He’s just so fucking adorable. Then Karl kisses him, moves his tongue in and out of Chris’s mouth like a tease of what’s to come, and reminds Chris that he’s adorable _and_ hot, and-- “--should get on with it.”

Karl pulls back, searches Chris’s face one last time. “Okay, well, need to get--y’know--and a condom--”

Chris almost laughs, but manages to mute it into a stutter. “We, uh, don’t need one, dude.” On so many levels. “We’re werewolves. Super healing and all that.”

Karl rolls his eyes. Chris kind of wants to argue with him, but it’s twenty hours to full moon. Pretty soon, he won’t have to argue.

Come to think of it, he’s not even sure if Karl’s going to _survive_ the full moon. Or the baby. Karl’s an anomaly, as far as Chris knows, and his abilities are all unknown.

Chris doesn’t like that thought at all.

He gives in without fanfare. “Okay, fine, go get them.”

Karl presses his lips to Chris’s once, firmly, then pushes himself off the bed. “Be right back.”

Chris grins. “I’ll be here.”

\---

Chris wasn’t lying about not being completely inexperienced in the ass-play area--He’s an open-minded guy, and open-minded hot girls are persuasive--so he’s comfortable with Karl slicking up two fingers and pushing them inside him, wriggling and moving in and out gently. But that’s about as far as he’s gone in the past, and when a third finger joins them, it burns, and it hits him that he’s about to have something significantly larger shoved in there--

Then Karl’s wriggling hits somewhere--prostate, Chris recognizes dimly in the back of his mind--and pleasure jolts up Chris’s spine, and he thinks _Oh._ This. This is why omegas like this so much. Chris had always been taught an alpha’s prostate was non-responsive, for some even painful, and his had always seemed the former--

“ _Fuck_ , that’s good--”

Until now.

His pries his eyes open and glares down at Karl. “You’re into torture, I can tell.”

Karl laughs, low and rich. “This is torturing both of us, trust me.”

Chris bears down onto Karl’s fingers, wringing a noise from both of them. “Then fuck me, already.”

Karl moves up his body lightning-quick, his fingers still plunging in and out in tandem with Chris’s undulating hips, until his mouth is near enough to Chris’s to share humid air between them. “I will. When you’re ready.”

And then Chris feels a fourth finger in there, probably actually a thumb, and gasps into Karl’s mouth. It hurts but it’s so good and if it’s got to hurt then he’d rather it just be _Karl_ in there-- “I’m ready, fuck, for fuck’s sake, totally ready--”

Karl doesn’t change his path, though. “I don’t want to h--”

“Karl!” Chris uses the most authoritative tone he has, and the way Karl snaps to, Chris knows it worked. “For the love of God, and the moon, and all things that are holy, put your fucking cock in me right now or I will--I will--” He thrusts again helplessly, his tone fading into pleading. “I’ll fucking cry, okay?” He looks into Karl’s eyes and tries to make his best puppy face. “Please.”

Karl smiles, dimples and all, even as his eyes are sparkling with lust. “Yes, sir.”

\---

The emptiness Chris feels when Karl removes his fingers is poignant. Pointed. Startling.

But then Karl replaces them with his dick, and immediately more startling, consumingly so, is the sensation of being _full_. Pleasantly full. Rightly full. It’s so unnatural, so backwards from what he’s supposed to feel, supposed to want, that it takes him aback, makes him think broad thoughts about fate and destiny.

Then Karl starts moving. And he can’t think of anything at all.

\---

Karl is a considerate lover. Not that Chris expected anything different, but he’s still pleasantly surprised when Karl carefully cleans the spunk and residual lube and...matter... from Chris’s skin, _after_ holding off his own orgasm until Chris had come again (much to Chris’s surprise; he’s not nineteen anymore, afterall).

He knows Karl won’t kick him out of bed. Knows Karl will make breakfast in the morning if Chris stays, regardless of how Karl’s feeling about the whole thing.

However. As they’re splayed all over the bed in a heap of fucked out limbs, Chris manages to postpone sleep long enough to poke at Karl, literally and metaphorically. “I’m staying.”

Karl sighs, then turns and slings an arm around Chris’s middle. “I figured.”

“Through the full moon.”

Karl groans and buries his head in Chris’s neck. “Will you please stop?”

And Chris will. He’s made his point. “Just sayin,” he says quietly, his fingers skating up and down Karl’s skin. “Sleep now.”

“Definitely,” Karl mumbles.

God knows they’ll both need it.

\---

Chris watches the clock all the next day, even though he doesn’t need to. Through the morning hand jobs and messy joint shower attempt that ends up being more like a water fight, through a breakfast sneaked from the coffee shop down the road, through a rugby game--and wow, does that make zero sense to Chris, but he powers through--and an episode of MacGyver on Spike TV, through Karl throwing together sandwiches then pushing Chris down into the couch for a random but welcome make-out session, lunch-breath be damned. He doesn’t _need_ to check the clock, he can feel the moon pulling at him just fine, but he does it anyways.

Old habits die hard, of course, and he’s anxious. More anxious than he’s been since he was fourteen and hadn’t yet developed the strength to escape the sway of the lunar cycle. He kind of understands how his mom must’ve felt at that point. Only, she didn’t know firsthand exactly how much pain her son would be going through.

Chris knows.

Chris knows and so he coddles Karl all day. Well, as much as Karl will let him. Which is about to the extent of Karl picking what they watch on tv, hence the rugby. Karl is stubborn in his denial. It pulls at Chris, makes him want to protect him even more. It’s a vicious cycle.

At about five-thirty Karl yawns, and stretches, and makes a face as his bones pop and re-settle anxiously. Ominously, to Chris. “Let’s go out,” he suggests, as distraction. Mostly distraction for himself.

“Where?”

“Somewhere not here. Just... a burger and a walk. Maybe the pier.”

Karl has an eyebrow raised. “But--they’ll find us--”

Chris shrugs. “I’ll wear my hat. You can wear one of my sweaters, the kind you’d never wear of your own volition.” He grins. “And if they come at us, we’ll growl and they’ll run away.”

Karl fights it but ends up laughing anyways. “Or you’ll flip them off and then _we’ll_ run away.”

“Or that.”

\---

They don’t, by some miracle, end up getting chased home by the paps. They have a burger from a stand-- “Just, don’t ask to see the health grade, ok?” --and wander down the beach a ways. The sky is gorgeous and the sun is just about to set. Which means the moon is just about to rise, has probably already started. But Chris is trying not to think about it, letting himself get distracted by the greasy food and the foamy water and the gorgeous man next to him.

“I’ll have you know, it’s taking a supreme effort on my part to not hold your hand right now.”

Karl smirks, but his eyes are soft. “Thank you. Seeing as you still have hamburger juice all over yo--”

Chris barely has time to comprehend it before Karl’s doubled over.

“Holy shit,” he hears Karl gasp. “What the fuck--”

Chris glances at the horizon. The moon has started its dance with the sun.

Shit is about to get real.

\---

He gets Karl home as fast as he can, speeding like the LA native he is--and good god if he’s this strung out just by Karl’s change, what the fuck are they going to do when Karl’s full term? Live in the hospital? Sounds good to Chris-- but it kills him, to have to listen to the cursing and pained sounds coming from the passenger seat.

“It’ll be okay, I promise--” He tries to be soothing but he can’t quite take a full breath. “We just need to get you home, then I can--” _\--can make it better_ , he wants to say, but he can’t. He can’t make it better. And that makes the ache in his chest expand into panic.

\---

Panic is great fuel for action.

As soon as he’s got the car parked, he’s around the other side and hauling Karl to the door, Karl’s arm slung over his shoulder so his weight is mostly on Chris. When Chris realizes the keys are in Karl’s pocket, he comes _thisclose_ to just kicking the door in, but Karl’s not that far gone yet; he seems to sense Chris’s dramatic inclinations and pulls the keys out just in time, with a grunted, “Don’t even think about it.”

Chris supposes fleetingly, as he’s helping Karl lower himself to the couch, that it would be rather awkward to explain in the morning.

“I’m never letting you buy me food ever again,” Karl mutters, and Chris can’t help but find the stubborn naivete rather endearing.

Then Karl lets out a strongly pained gasp, that almost sounds like he’s choking, and panic fills up all the spaces in Chris’s brain again. His lips linger against Karl’s sweaty temple. He tries to think. He thinks of his mom, and what she would do. And then he moves.

\---

He’s never understood the whole ‘wailing and gnashing of teeth’ thing. He’s seen pictures, videos, of people laid out over coffins, faces stretched and scrunched by grief, making noises unhuman and haunting, but he’s never really understood. And he’s known people that died. Grandparents. Family friends. But he didn’t feel anywhere near that level of emotion for them. Hasn’t for anything, really.

He fucking gets it now.

Watching Karl writhe and whimper, alternately curling into himself with pain and spreading out all his limbs as if he can reach relief if he just stretches far enough, is fucking killing Chris. His chest feels like it’s splitting in two as he sits in a chair beside the towel-covered bed, watching his proud, strong mate shiver in the stink of his own waste.

It’s like dying. Chris remembers only too clearly.

He knows, somewhere in the part of his brain that can manage rational thought, that it’s almost over. Karl’s body is nearly to the point where the wolf will take over and the change will be complete.

Then they just have to survive the night. And the reversal that morning will bring.

Chris’s heart _hurts_.

\---

Then, suddenly in comparison with the torture of the last few hours, Karl lets out one final pained shout as convulsions curl him into the mattress.

When he lifts his head again, it’s that of a wolf.

Chris’s breath catches on a choked sob. He barely feels the snaps and crackles as he changes himself, ignoring the stretch of muscles as he leaps up onto the bed.

He approaches Karl cautiously, not sure if his presence will be welcome. Karl sniffs once, twice, then whimpers, and lays his head down between his paws, his still-large eyes on Chris.

Chris crawls forward, licks a comforting stripe along Karl’s jaw, and settles in for the night.

\---

He doesn’t sleep.

Karl does, at least a little, in that way dogs have of being half-asleep half the time. But his body is too fucked up for real sleep. Which means Chris has little chance of finding any himself.

He considers getting up and changing the sheets, but as soon as he lifts his head, Karl curls into him with a sleepy whine and his heart fucking shatters all over again.

The hours claw at him.

\---

When he can feel the moon beginning to wane, he starts counting breaths. In, out, Karl’s still alive. In, out.

In. Out.

\---

The change back is quicker than Chris expected. Anomaly, he has to remind himself, as Karl goes from grunting to keening to full convulsions in under an hour.

Chris stays beside him in bed as long as physically possible. And feels it like a literal tear in his gut when he’s forced to move back to his chair beside the bed.

He folds his hands together, knuckles white, and waits.

\---

Karl opening his eyes--human eyes--is the best thing Chris has seen all year. And when he focuses a bleary gaze on Chris, and exhales as if the sight brings him relief, Chris feels eighteen tons coming off his shoulders.

“Hey,” he whispers, his throat raw. “Welcome back.”

Karl licks his lips and reaches out a shaking hand, and Chris’s eyes burn. “Don’t try to move yet. You’re done. You’re done and you did awesome.”

Karl nods a little, then lets his hand fall, relaxing back into the pillow. He doesn’t close his eyes, though. His gaze is glassy, droopy, and Chris knows it’s the endorphins, and he’s thankful for them. Karl probably doesn’t remember much of anything at the moment, just the bare facts. Which would be enough to send most people a bit catatonic, anyways.

Chris murmurs inconsequential things as he removes the towels and changes the bedclothes, maneuvering Karl around when necessary. Karl’s watching him, he knows, and occasionally makes a noise in response, but they’re not bad noises, just heavy, tired ones, so Chris goes along his way, and when he gets the last corner of the clean sheet tucked, he makes a small triumphant noise.

He really, really needs to send a thank-you card to his mother. And flowers. And possibly a small island in the Bahamas.

\---

He can tell Karl’s getting restless, getting ready to try to sit up, so he gathers the things he had on the nightstand and comes to scoot the chair closer to the bed. But before he can settle, Karl’s gripping his wrist, slack with exhaustion but still enough to make Chris’s brow furrow. Karl’s eyes are so, so big. And confused.

“Karl? Are you--” He stops himself before he says the ‘okay,’ because what a stupid fucking question. Karl’s not okay, and he won’t be for at least another couple days.

“Chris,” Karl says, his voice gravel, barely there. He swallows a couple of times, then tries again. “Chris, I--”

Chris hushes him. “There’s water-- Here, let me--” And Karl does, he lets Chris put the straw to his lips until he’s had a few mouthfulls. But he doesn’t let go of Chris’s hand.

“You knew,” he says instead, bewilderingly.

Chris’s brows draw together. “Of course I knew. I tried to tell you. I--”

“No.”

And Chris has no idea what’s going on until Karl drags his hand over and down. Until it’s resting lightly against Karl’s belly.

Chris feels the air knock clean out of his lungs.

“You knew,” Karl repeats.

“Oh, god,” Chris whispers. “How...did you--do you--” Oh, _God_.

Karl shrugs a little. “You know what it’s like. To be... in... the other form. You feel things. You feel your body in ways you never feel as a--” He stumbles over the words. “Human.”

His hold on Chris’s hand tightens. “And I could feel it. Inside me.” A muscle in his jaw tics. “Foreign.”

Chris wants to shrink back into himself, to run away from all of this. “I’m sorry,” he finally manages instead. “I’m so sorry, Karl. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, I took every precaution I could, I--” His words evaporate, unhelped by the vague desperate gestures he’s making.

“Then how?” Karl’s voice is quiet. Calm. Too calm. Chris’s skin feels itchy.

“Zach thinks it’s fate,” he tries to joke. It fails. “But it’s something that happens amongst--us. Werewolves. Only certain... kinds, and not very often.”

“What kinds?”

“I don’t--” Chris can’t do this. He just can’t. “This isn’t the best time, you’re exhausted and--” He tries another tack. “And how are you not either freaking out or in incredible denial?”

Karl snorts, but is clearly not amused. “That’ll come round later. But for now, you should treat me like a grown-up, and get it over with.”

Chris sighs and rubs his cheek with his hand. They’re _both_ fucking exhausted, and he does not feel like going over Werewolf 101. How do you tell the person you’re shit-crazy for that you’ve fucked up his life?

 _You just do_ , he can hear his mother saying. _Man the fuck up_ , he can hear Zach saying.

He takes a deep breath and starts in.

“Since ancient times, as far back as we know, we’ve had three types -- They’ve gone by different names, or whatever, but for the past couple hundred years it’s been Omegas, the ones that can...” He can feel himself blushing. “...breed... Alphas, the ones that... do the breeding... And betas... which is everyone else. Alphas and omegas are about one in fifty.”

He can’t look bring himself to meet Karl’s eyes. Holy fuck does he want a cigarette. A shot of tequila. A morphine drip. Something.

“You’re... in about eight months you’re going to basically pass out--” _From pain_ , he refrains from saying; it’s pretty much understood, right? “--for two days while your body makes itself a nice--” He makes a vague shape with his hands. “--exit route, sort of near your... liver.” He really needs to read up on that part, Jesus. “And then we’ll be... you know. Parents. Well. You’ll be a parent again. And this one will be pretty much the same as Hunter and Indy,” he for some reason feels the need to explain. “Not necessarily a were. Maybe, but probably not. Just... a baby. You know. Of... us.”

And that’s it, Chris is going to die of awkward.

Then he hears Karl laugh.

It starts out a chuckle, then it kind of expands, until Karl is clutching his sides and positively howling--ha--with it, so much it has _got_ to hurt, and Chris’s eyebrows come together with both confusion and innate concern. “What?”

Karl just keeps laughing.

“What the fuck?”

Karl tries to stop, and manages to wheeze out some words. “Listen to yourself--I mean--”

Chris is slightly affronted.

Karl sees the look on his face and laughs some more, but reaches out a hand and pulls at Chris until he’s sitting with Karl curled around him. “It’s just--” Karl continues, wiping his eyes. “--what you’re saying, it’s so ridiculous, and yet I know it’s true because I just went through it--” He grins up at Chris. “But you have to admit it, it’s ridiculous. It sounds like one of the graphic novel movies I do that everyone hates.”

Chris cannot resist that grin. Or the truth of it, for that matter. “Yeah, fuck, all right, you’ve got a point.”

Then suddenly he’s laughing, too, and they’re clutching at each other, adrenaline-crash taking over, all other things forgotten.

 _You have to laugh at yourself,_ Chris thinks, drinking in Karl’s sounds, smell, presence. _You’d cry your eyes out if you didn’t._

\---

They sleep the rest of the morning, by necessity. Chris rolls over once at about eleven to text Zach and his mother, oh and his PA, he recalls at the last minute, then rolls back over and tucks himself back against Karl, purposefully not thinking of anything at all.

\---

An hour later, he wakes up and the bed is empty.

He panics for a moment, then simultaneously hears the shower and remembers that he’s at Karl’s place. So Karl hasn’t left. Probably.

Twenty minutes later, there hasn’t been a change in the sound of the shower, and Chris’s curiosity--paranoia--gets the better of him.

He knocks on the bathroom door once. There’s no answer. Twice, and there’s an answer that time but it’s short and he can’t quite make it out. “Karl?” He tries the handle; it’s unlocked. “I’m coming in, okay--”

The room is chock full of steam, and Chris has to blink and make his way in to see what’s happening. When he does, his stomach tightens.

Karl’s sitting under the spray, his tall form folded up into itself. The water’s beating down on him, on his chest and knees, and he’s just letting it.

He doesn’t look at Chris. “I’m sorry, I’ll be out in a minute.”

Chris swallows. Only Karl would be polite in a situation like this. “No worries, man. It’s fine.”

Karl laughs, a barking laugh that contains no humor. “What part of this is fine in any way?”

“Karl...” And Chris can’t stand it, so he goes with his instinct and reaches into the shower, holding a hand out for Karl. “Come on. Let’s get you back to bed. Or maybe some food?”

Karl, though, does not take what he’s offering. Instead, he stands--grunting a little with what can only be pain, and Chris winces--shuts off the tap, and reaches past Chris for a towel.

“Jesus Christ, Chris, leave it.”

“I’m just--”

“Quit mother hen-ing me.”

Chris grits his jaw--he remembers what a prick he’d been after his first change, too--and reaches out for another towel, stepping towards Karl with it. “I’m just trying to help, you don’t have to be a douche about it--”

As soon as the towel Chris is holding touches Karl’s skin, he feels a hand shoot out and grab his wrist in a vice grip.

“Don’t.”

Chris sucks in a breath and stares at Karl. The fingers are so tight around Chris’s arm--Karl’s not resisting that part of his...evolution, apparently--that Chris feels his heart thud in his ears as the adrenaline starts up. Karl is so close, and _wet_ , and strong, and--

And fucking _pissed_.

“Don’t you dare try and take care of me,” he says, his voice low and rough. “You’re no one’s nursemaid, and while I appreciate you sticking around last night, I don’t need anyone looking after me.”

“I’m just--”

“In fact, you should probably leave now.”

But his words are betrayed by his lack of motion: He doesn’t let go of Chris’s wrist. They stand there, staring at each other. Breathing hard.

And Chris is suddenly incredibly pissed as well. “Why are you being such an idiot?”

Karl scoffs. “Me? You’re the one--” He waves towards Chris, and the towel Chris is still holding. “The one that’s--”

Chris steps even closer. “I’m the one that’s doing the right thing, is what you mean.”

Apparently those are the wrong words, though. Karl’s eyes go even darker, and he yanks the towel out of Chris’s hand, then bends down the pick up his clothes. “Fuck you,” he growls at Chris once he straightens, his breath hot on Chris’s face. “I am not your obligation.” Then he’s through the door and moving down the hallway, shoving clothes onto his still-damp body as he goes.

Chris stand there, stunned, for a minute. Then he’s following Karl like a shot, catching him round the back and pinning his wrists together between them. Karl might have were strength, but he’s weak from the change, and Chris is, in a sense, far older.

And a shitload more desperate.

“Wait,” Chris says into Karl’s neck, voice low, rough, and steady, despite the fear curling in his gut. “Wait a God damned mother fucking minute.”

Karl growls and pushes against the hold.

“Fucking stubborn Kiwi bastard-- Don’t you see?” He lets his lips linger against Karl’s skin softly--wanting instead to bite down, to leave a mark, make a fucking _claim_ \--and wills his heart to stop racing. Wills his brain to _work_.

His instinct is telling him to take, seize, _conquer_ \-- but he’s fought against that instinct this whole relationship, and for damn good reasons. Karl deserves his fucking respect, deserves to be treated like an equal, deserves to have a choice.

Chris takes a deep breath, brushes one last kiss on Karl’s neck, and lets go.

Karl stills for a moment. Then his hands fall to his side, fists uncurling slowly. He doesn’t turn, but he doesn’t leave, either. “See what?”

Chris almost laughs, but it’s a sad sound. He doesn’t really know what to say first, what’s going to be the most convincing, important thing to say.

So he just starts talking.

“That it’s the right thing not because I feel some sort of shotgun against my temple, or because the fates conspired and wove the tapestry this way, or because biology dictates, or any other bullshit. It’s the right thing because it feels right, because it feels like exactly where I want to be, and it has since the beginning, and only has _more_ as it’s gone along. Pardoning the construction of that sentence.” He twitches a little. He can feel the warmth from Karl, the tension bleeding into the room. “It’s simple, in a way. It’s just because I fucking _love_ you, and am _in_ love with you, and want nothing more than to continue on with my ridiculous life as long as you’re in it-- As long as you’re my--”

He falters. Karl hasn’t moved. The fear is getting more insidious, taking over his guts, and he doesn’t want to show any more cards. Doesn’t want to give any more away, just to have it rejected.

“What?”

Chris looks up at the sound of Karl’s voice, and finds he has turned to Chris, finds him startlingly near, his eyes dark and bright. “As long as I’m your what?”

Chris holds his gaze, somehow. He feels his face heat up. He’d pretty much rather do anything other than answer.

But for Karl, he’ll do any number of things he doesn’t want to do. Even walk out that door.

So. What the hell.

When the words come out, they’re rough, but there. “...my mate.” Then they just start pouring out of their own volition, clumsy and hot. “I know it’s a cheesy-ass term, but it’s not-- It’s just how we are, weres. Once we find somebody, we stick with them, build lives with them... And I’d never really _gotten_ that, before, but then I met you, and I wanted it, for the first time in my fucking life.” He almost laughs at himself. “And I can’t force you into anything, wouldn’t want to, so we can do however much or little of that you’d like, but every fucking cell in my body screams that you’re mine-- that I’m yours-- that that baby is something we should be proud of and that we could have this fucking epic life together if only you’d--”

Karl’s lips stop the flow of words.

Chris grunts in surprise, instinctively reaching up to Karl’s shoulder with one hand and neck with the other, grounding himself as Karl kisses him until his brain is spinning and it’s all he can do to hold on. Karl’s mouth is gentle and warm and wet, and Chris is confused as shit.

“Not...” He licks his lips as the kiss ends. Their foreheads touch. “...that I’m complaining, but...”

Karl chuckles. His breath poofs against Chris’s lips. “But?”

Chris swallows, weighing his options. He could be a complete fucking nag and demand answers, or he could get laid. He’ll go with Door #2. “Nothing. Come here.”

\---

Karl doesn’t just let it happen that easily, though. He takes Chris’s mouth over and over again, and Chris more than willingly reciprocates, but just when Karl’s hand has molded around Chris’s length through his boxers and Chris has recovered enough to return the favor, working his hand into Karl’s jeans, Karl starts punctuating the kisses with talking. Short sentences, but ones Chris will never forget.

“I fought it,” he says against Chris’s lips as he works Chris’s cock. “Even when I knew things were going to shit with Nat. All that shit I did, was because I knew. And I was fighting it.” He trails kisses down Chris’s neck. “I’ve never wanted anything so badly.”

He tightens his free arm around Chris’s back, until they’re flush together as can be, and speaks lowly, almost tentatively, into Chris’s ear. “I don’t want to fight it anymore.”

Chris, for the first time since he’d smelled this man of sunshine, feels the world right itself.

Their hands aren’t even really moving, anymore; they’re so tight against each other that the movement of hips and the friction of clothing is all they need, the heat and lust and sense of _so fucking right_ doing the job for them. Chris feels Karl come, feels the grunt against his jaw and the hot wetness against his hand.

Tied up and twisted, and so in love it hurts, Chris places his mouth against Karl’s for one last desperate kiss, and lets go.

\---

Afterwards, he snuffles against Karl’s neck. “That was rather anti-climactic.” He straightens and meets Karl’s eyes with a grin. “Pun intended. Sort of.”

“How so?”

“Well,” he says cheekily, “since we both came, it’s kind of ironi--”

Karl gives him a smacking kiss. “Smart ass.”

Chris does a little thrust. “You know it.”

Karl shakes his head. “Tell me what you mean.”

Chris sighs, and tries one of his gesticulations, but they’re so tangled up in each other it kind of fails. He forges on. “It’s just-- After all this, you know, conflict, one would expect...” He tries again. “It’s not a very good end for a story, is it?”

Karl’s smile is soft but genuine. “Feels more like a beginning to me.”

Chris can’t help but smile as well, but he tries to hide it by nuzzling at Karl’s jaw. “Dork.”

“Says the one who just put a story structure over our relationship.”

Chris takes a nip of sweaty skin, liking how Karl tips his head for better access.“You love it.”

“Yeah,” Karl says quietly, but firmly. “I do.”


	5. Epilogue

Karl’s laugh echoes through the living room as he throws Chris down onto the couch. Chris heaves up, suppressing his own laughter, and nearly lets out a loud guffaw when Karl straddles him and proceeds to grope the shit out of him.

“Jesus, Karl!” he hisses between snatched breaths as he pushes at Karl’s shoulders. Karl doesn’t budge until Chris dials up the strength, and he barely has time to cushion the blow before they’re in a heap on the ground. He has one ear cocked to the baby monitor (Bedazzled, you bet your bottom, by Zach, as a present for his ‘little God-monster’) for sounds from the nursery, but hears nothing... yet. “The baby--”

“Is asleep,” Karl says confidently, slipping his hand under Chris’s ugly-ass sweater and wrapping strong thighs around Chris’s midsection. “Where do you think the term ‘slept like a baby’ came from?”

“Uh... irony? She’s not exactly-- Oomph--”

His deep etymological thoughts are cut off when Karl flips them over and pins him to the carpet.

\---

Because they’d had a girl. And that’s alright, really: A month prior, just after the birth but before much-delayed filming of Trek 2 began, Nat and the boys had been out to visit, and Chris had known the second he’d accepted Indy’s solemn handshake that in a few years, he’d be having another sleepless full moon.

And one werewolf offspring is quite enough, thanks.

\---

He forgets that, though, once he has Karl naked and sweaty and on all fours in front of him. Their scent is so strong he’s having trouble thinking anything at all beyond _wantneedmine_ , beyond a ceaseless chant of _claimclaimclaim_...

(He’s made the claim several hundred--thousand--times. But his body wants it desperately, innately, wholly, just the same. Every damn time.)

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against the back of Karl’s neck as he pushes three slick fingers inside him. The chase always gets them both on edge with arousal, and the fact that they haven’t really done anything like it for months makes it even more intense, but he refuses to go in without some sort of prep. “Gonna fuck you hard, like I know you want it.” He takes a bite of Karl’s skin, the skin at the back of his neck. Leaves a mark. Because he can. Karl whimpers, and Chris feels triumphant. “Such shenanigans. Coulda just told me you wanted to.”

Karl growls and pushes back. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Chris feels the tightening around his fingers and loses his already-veering train of thought. He straightens up and enters Karl without any more preamble, fucking into him with a strength that makes them both groan. “Yeah,” Chris says roughly as he pistons in and out, “you like that. Fucking perfect.” He holds onto Karl’s hips so hard there might be bruises tomorrow. If they were anybody else. If they were normal.

But they’re not. And Chris has never been so thankful.

“Take it so well,” Chris mutters as Karl ruts back into him, intent and hot and tight. “Give it well, too.” The sounds of wet slapping skin and heavy breathing fill the room, and Chris knows with the all the tussling around they did that this stage isn’t going to last long.

Which is fine with him.

He drops down as soon as he feels it. Folds himself over Karl and whispers things in his ear as his knot begins to form, as his thrusts begin to shallow out from the resistance against Karl’s rim. “Gonna fill you up, you know. Breed you full up, make them wait even longer to make any more movies. Watch you grow fat and happy again, take care of you when you’re grumpy and huge.”

He doesn’t even know what he’s saying; his knot is full bore inside Karl now and and it’s all instinct, all words tumbling out as they rock together, locked together by this thing.

Locked together by this thing that they are.

\---

It hasn’t been perfect.

Juniper’s birth was messy--literally and metaphorically; Chris had never chainsmoked so much in his _life_ \--and they are both still adjusting, constantly rearranging things, fitting pieces back together: Karl as a husband and father, but in a new way; Chris as an alpha, but with a partner; them both as working actors trying to live their lives under the radar, having even more to hide now. Sometimes it feels like they’ll never be _done_ adjusting.

So it’s not perfect. It’s fucking hard, actually. But as Chris pushes his hands through the sweat on the skin of the man curled up next to him, making tracks through rough hair and smooth liquids, he knows deep in his gut that there’s no other imperfect thing he’d rather be a part of. And that, like Crunchy Cheetos and Jolly Ranchers, this imperfection is part of his fate. Destiny.

 _Life_.

 

** FIN **

**Author's Note:**

>  **Sources/Inspirations/Etc** : _Chasing Amy_ , Red Hot Chili Peppers, _Snatch_ , my friend Anne (may she rest in peace ♥), _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_ , Emily Saliers, my BFF Ern, Dave Matthews Band, and, as always, Aaron Sorkin.
> 
>  **Thanks** : First, chronologically speaking, to elucreh for leading me into J2, where this trope is popular and plentiful. Then to janice_lester, for encouraging cross-fandom trope experimentation (and for doing [her own awesome take on it](http://janice-lester.livejournal.com/148674.html)). She was also a heavy-hitter on the beta team, along with mrasaki, gingifere, and pslasher. The rest of my f’list was a great, great encouragement, despite (or perhaps because of) the madness contained herein. Special thanks to the Heterolifemate, ernthealmighty, who not only had to read about it but had to put up with real life talk about it nearly every day as well. And thanks to the mods of rpf_big_bang for putting it all together, and for being so fucking chill. So: **Endless hearts, to all of you.** Endless. ♥


End file.
